


Not A Loser Anymore

by PastPresentFiction



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Alternative Perspective, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 30,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23502829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastPresentFiction/pseuds/PastPresentFiction
Summary: Captain Morgan Dean was a combat medic surgeon who was recruited by Lieutenant Colonel Franklin Clay while stationed in Germany.  They had the type of spark that other people prayed for, at least Clay thought they did.  After a blow up before the failed mission in Bolivia that left he and his team "dead", he had to push her out of his mind.  She'd left, quit him and them, after all.What if she hadn't given up on them though?  What if she didn't believe for one instant that they would die in such a horrific way?  What if she finds him, and her former team in Bolivia and keeps watch over them from afar?  What happens when she makes her presence known?Will Clay be proven right?  That they were the stuff that people dream of having.  Or will Morgan shock him, and the team by choosing someone so completely different from Clay that even the one chosen doesn't believe it?She's not a Loser, not anymore, but she may just make sure they become Winners.  Every single one of them.
Relationships: Franklin Clay/Original Female Character(s), Jake Jensen & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing of the DC world of The Losers (based on the movie, not comics). I blame self quarantine and an overload of Jeffery Dean Morgan. Add in Chris Evans and my brain may just implode.
> 
> If you like this arc, feed me kudos and reviews. I love that shit!

Lieutenant Colonel Franklin Clay was sitting at the bar in a dive in Bolivia eating his usual dinner. He always had been a meat and potatoes kind of guy, she thought, watching as a thin, attractive young woman approached him. Ah, the simple act of seduction. Well, it was always simple with Clay. She smirked from her cover at a corner booth swathed in darkness. Easy to watch, but not be seen, not that he’d recognize her with the new hair color and disguise.

As she watched the young woman flirt, she remembered the night she’d first met Clay. 

She’d been stationed at Landstuhl Regional Medical in Germany. A combat medic without active combat to work through, she’d been assigned a “cushy” post at one of the most wanted overseas bases in the US military. She sat at a local bar, not unlike the one she and Clay were occupying presently, trying to drown her week with hard liquor and solitude. 

Sitting there, drinking liquid fire, she found herself wishing to be back in the field. Fixing up soldiers who were actually getting harmed from enemy fire, or even from accidents on while on their post would be somehow more rewarding than this. Here she fixed more of the ‘hold my beer and watch this’ bullshit that she could have stayed in West Virginia and worked on. 

Tapping the bar to get the tender’s attention, she ordered another round. Usually she hated dark alcohol, but that night, all she wanted was to blur the week, months, and probably years she’d end up stuck here. She had been so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t noticed him take the stool next to her. Didn’t pay attention to his stare, or even realize that he was invading her personal space.

Pulling herself back to her current predicament, she watched as the young woman wooed Clay. She chuckled to herself as the girl won him over. As though he were hard to read, the man oozed sex. She rolled her eyes as they disappeared out the door and stood up. Tossing money on the table for the cold soda she’d nursed during her surveillance. She didn’t have to follow them, she knew the hotel that Clay was staying at and she knew how the rest of the evening would go. She didn’t have to witness it firsthand, she’d lived it, after all.

THREE YEARS EARLIER~GERMANY

Clay sat down next to the slight younger woman who was throwing back shots of Jack like she wanted to forget the world. If he’d thought she was attractive from the back, he wasn’t fully prepared for the front. Her hair was longer than he’d expected for a combat medic, and officer at that. Captain Morgan Dean, highly trained surgeon and pretty damn hot if he had to describe her. 

Long red tinted dark brown hair, green eyes (he’d seen her picture in her personnel file), five foot tall barefooted, and curvy in all the right places. And an ability to hold her liquor, if the repeated shots she was taking told the real tale. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she downed another, waiting for the tap to get the bartender’s attention. It didn’t come, but her turning in her stool to look up at him did.

“See something you like?” She asked, and he heard the barest hint of a southern accent. Her perfectly arched eyebrow rose and he found himself speechless for one of the first times in his life. “Cat got your tongue?” She chuckled and licked her bottom lip and his eyes were redirected to the plump red part of her that turned his thoughts to how she would taste.

He cleared his throat and closed his eyes. Shit, he was here to vet her for a place on his team, not fuck her. “Maybe,” his voice came out huskier than he wanted, so he cleared his throat again and opened his eyes to see her watching him intently. “You Captain Dean?” 

She leaned back and laughed, and he wanted to hear the sound again and again. “Great, I can’t even go off base to have a drink without you assholes finding me.” Sitting up straight and tapping the bar, she was given another shot. “What’s the emergency now? Did one of the privates set himself on fire to win a bet?” She tossed her shot back and grimaced at the burn. 

Clay shook his head, mesmerized by the way her hair whipped behind her, soft curls and flashing the red in the low light. “No emergency. I’m Lieutenant Colonel Franklin Clay,” he held out his hand, but she just glanced at it and tapped the bar again. “I came to offer you a new post.” 

Morgan ignored his hand until he put it down on the bar. “A new post? I have at least another year here, trust me, I’ve checked.” She downed another shot and glanced back at him. “What kind of pull do you think you have to offer me something else?” 

He smirked, liking the fact that she knew her shit and didn’t trust random men in bars, no matter how much she’d drank. “Special Ops, we need a medic and I prefer highly trained officers for my group.” He took a drink from his own tumbler and waited. She said nothing, so he looked back at her. “I have more pull than you can imagine, Captain. I read your file, I think you’d be a great fit, but if you’re not interested-” 

She was thinking, he could almost feel the gears turning. “Special Ops?” She asked, calling the bartender over and asking for water. Clearly planning on sobering up, she waited until he placed it in front of her. “And I’d get away from this shithole?” 

He laughed, knowing his dimples were showing and would normally charm the panties off of a normal woman. Morgan Dean wasn’t a normal woman, not by a long shot. “Shithole? Hell, I thought this was considered paradise to everyone?”

She grimaced and took a long drink of her water. “It’s filled with idiots who think it’s such paradise that I fill my days pulling glass out of their asses because some other dickhead dared them to do something stupid.” She sat her glass down and swiveled the stool to face his profile. “Your group, do they do stupid shit that requires babysitting and handholding?” 

Clay turned so they were face to face. “Not on my watch.” He promised, fingers crossed that he wasn’t lying and the guys wouldn’t decide that fucking around would be the new normal. “We’re not irresponsible, especially in the field.” 

Morgan nodded, hopping down from her stool, she offered him her hand. He took it and was surprised by how firm her shake was. “Get me the information, let me have enough time to turn the duties over to my replacement, and I’ll take it.” 

The dimples were back. “Sounds great, why don’t I walk you back to your lodgings?” Licking his lips, he hoped he could convince her to let him at least sample the goods, even if it was only one time. He stood up and tossed enough money on the bar to cover his drink, her many drinks, and still left enough to make the bartender’s night. 

She shrugged, clearly not overwhelmed by his charm, and started out the door. When they cleared the bar, and were shadowed by a lack of lights, she turned to him and pushed him against the nearest building. Before Clay could process what was happening, her hands were fisted in his hair and she was dragging his head toward her. 

“Tell me you weren’t thinking about this since you sat down next to me,” she dared, her whiskey hot breath fanning his lips. Before he could say anything, her lips crashed against his and his arms clutched around her and pulled her tight against his body. When her mouth opened under his, he slipped his tongue inside and moaned at the taste of her mingling with the shots she’d taken. 

They’d barely made it back to her apartment. Hands were everywhere, and once the door closed behind them, their clothes were torn off. He’d pushed her against the door and one thrust was all it took to make them both scream. The entire night was a blur of sex and orgasms, and it felt like he’d found IT. The illusive thing that men and women searched for when they wanted a partner in life. 

He’d been so confused when he woke up the next morning and found a letter on her pillow. She’d left, gone to tie up her life on post, and told him to leave instructions for where she would be meeting him and his team. Anyone reading it would think it was from someone who barely knew the reader. A letter from a new employee to a new boss, a letter that didn’t reveal that they’d shared hours of pleasure. He had to wonder, was this what the other women he’d been with felt like when he left before they woke in the morning?


	2. Chapter 2

Morgan felt pretty damn pissed that she hadn’t followed Clay when he left the bar. She stood looking up at the burnt remains of his hotel. Fuck, she’d spent months watching him and his fellow assholes. Watching to make sure something idiotic and news catching like a fucking hotel catching fire. Shit. Oh he had made absolutely good on his promise that his team were responsible, she groaned and walked back to her own small hotel. 

Where would they end up next? She had to think that they wouldn’t stick around after something this massive happened. After all, if they were found faking their own deaths, then they’d be up shit creek without a paddle. She was always their paddle in shit creek. Keeping their lifeboat above the rushing water, until they truly needed her. 

She sat down on the crappy bed that her hotel provided. At least there weren’t bugs, she thought, holding her head as she considered what had gone so horribly wrong that she was sitting in fucking Bolivia doing recon to keep her former team safe from themselves.

WEEKS BEFORE THE OP IN BOLIVIA

“Fuck you, Clay!” She’d screamed, slamming the door of his bedroom as she stomped out to the main living area of their base. She didn’t pay attention to the open mouthed stares that the rest of her team were giving her. She wasn’t aware that she’d left every piece of her clothing behind with Clay and was stalking to her own room in nothing but her bra and the briefest scrap of lace that could barely be called panties covering her. 

Morgan hadn’t wanted to be unprofessional. She fought against ever repeating their first meeting. He was her superior officer. Her BOSS for fuck’s sake. She’d left the note, as impersonal as it could get, and scurried from her apartment the morning after simply because that wasn’t her. She was a fucking doctor and a professional. So waking up next to him, even if he was the best sex she’d ever had, was a nightmare. She would have blamed the booze, but she hadn’t felt that tipsy when she pushed him against the building steps away from the bar. She definitely wasn’t drunk when he slammed her against her front door and fucked her senseless. Or the multiple other times they came together that night. When the light of dawn woke her, she’d been pressed against his chest, his arms holding her tight, and his head pressed against hers. 

It felt good, but it was wrong. Wrong, wrong, and dangerous to her career. She booked it after jotting down that fucking note. The note they just fought over, again. After another slip off the wagon that she was on trying to keep from fucking her boss. Again. And again. And again. Worst recovering addict ever.

And every single time after that first night, Clay had to remind her that she ran. That she didn’t trust what they felt enough to stay and talk to him. Usually he waited until they were naked and at least partially sated, but tonight he started as they were taking their clothes off. And ruined it by making her feel like an idiot. Reminding her early the reasons she had rushed out that first morning. Reminding her how wrong their screwing around was, and as it was, how wrong this whole fucking situation was for them. For the team. For him and for her. 

She was clothed and packing when she heard a knock on her door. Fuming, but certain it wasn’t Clay she grunted her assent for her visitor to come in. It was Jensen. Tech geek, and sweetheart, even if he was the most awkward human on the planet. Shame really, because he was very attractive. 

“Mo,” he started, seeing her bags being filled with her shit. “Come on, Mo, this too shall pass.” 

She rolled her eyes and glared at him. “No, Jensen, it won’t. That’s the problem. It never passes, not for long.” Morgan sighed and tossed the last of her possessions in her duffle. Zipping it up, she sat down on her bed and tried to smile at the computer nerd with arms of a Greek god. “Look, I can’t stay, not anymore. Cougar is a great medic, you guys don’t need me.” She forced herself to stand. “I have to go, fuck this stress is worse than putting aloe on the burned ass of monkey.” Grabbing her duffle and suitcase, she walked to the door of her room. “Don’t worry, Jen, I’m sure I’ll see you again.” He leaned down and she kissed his cheek. “Tell the others bye for me, would you?” He nodded and she was gone.

A WEEK AFTER THE OP WENT WRONG

Morgan could still see the commanding officer coming to her door. She couldn’t understand why they came to her, until he told her that Clay had named her as his next of kin. The officer stood in front of her saying all the usual platitudes that came from informing someone their loved one was dead in the line of duty. Even if it was unsanctioned. Even if it was a fuck up of massive proportions. 

She had stopped the man, just as he was telling her that she would be given the folded flag, “What did they find?”

“Ma’am?” The officer asked, trying to understand her question.

“Of the bodies, what was found?” She asked, watching the man’s face. He looked uncomfortable. “They did find bodies, didn’t they?”

“It was a helicopter crash of sorts, ma’am.” He looked down at his shiny boots. “There wasn’t much left of anything, they found the dog tags of the team.” 

She nodded, feeling that Clay and the team weren't dead at all. And she’d make it her mission to find out just what the hell had happened.

It had taken months. Months of bureacratic red tape and calling in every favor she’d ever made over her years of saving lives, or at least saving the shame of some idiotic decisions. She struggled, and fought against giving up, but in the end it had paid off. 

The OP was requested on the behest of some shadowy figure called “Max.” Morgan couldn’t find much to prove Max was a human, but clearly he had to be. It wasn’t a mission she’d known about when she left the team, so it had to be one that wasn’t given much planning, which didn’t sound like Clay at all. The man was an asshole, but he was careful with his people. 

From what she could gather, it was supposed to be a simple in and out type of job. So why were so many people dead? And why did Clay take the team underground? Morgan had realized that she’d have to go to Bolivia. Finding out information on the ground would have to be easier than pulling teeth in the U.S. 

Finding them was easier than she’d expected. She had set up her headquarters in a small rundown, but clean hotel on the edge of town. Walking down the main street the first night, and there he was. Dressed in that damn dark suit of his, with the white shirt gleaming against his tanned skin, she nearly tripped. He walked into the very dive bar she watched him in the night of the fire, and every night after.

She didn’t only focus on Clay, though she was itching to find out why he’d choose her of all people as next of kin. No, she found Jensen and Cougar working at a baby doll factory, of all places. Jensen was always easy to pick out of the crowd with his loud t-shirts that barely held together under the strain of his muscles. Cougar was also fairly simple to pick out of a crowd. Women flocked to the sniper who didn’t use many words. And eventually she’d seen Roque and Pooch, too. 

Confirming they weren’t dead, she wondered about Pooch. His wife was due to have a baby, and soon. That had to make this self imposed “death” difficult on them both. She’d checked in on Jolene before making the trip. She found the pregnant woman as disbelieving as she was that they were dead. Her reason? Pooch’s wedding ring wasn’t with his dog tags. Why would he suddenly take it off the chain if he hadn’t been alive to keep it? 

Morgan agreed with Jolene, and Jensen’s sister when she checked on her before leaving for Bolivia. Same story, with less proof and more of a feeling. Funny how only the women seemed to realize that the story didn’t mesh with the men they knew. 

And so, Morgan kept watch. She knew her former team. Knew all of them well enough to know that one of them would fuck up, and she had hoped that she’d be able to swoop in and make sure the fuck up wouldn’t end up with them actually dying.

A WEEK AFTER THE HOTEL FIRE

Morgan was on her cell phone, rolling her eyes at the dickhead on the other end. “No, I don’t want to know about the endangered animals being smuggled into the United States. I’m sure it’s a terrible and horrifying situation, but what I TRULY need to know is whether there have been any strange shipments scheduled to come into the states that don’t seem ‘right’ to you.” She sighed, “Look Skippy, I’m sure that the plight of the average custom’s agent is just fucking the most stress a human could possibly experience, but if you don’t tell me what I want to know, the stress you’re feeling is going to be raised by one hundred percent.” She listened as he described the plane. The caskets. The number of caskets. Nodding, she jotted the information down on a napkin. “Well, thanks Skippy. I’m glad that we don’t have to meet face to face after all, but I promise, you and your team can expect a nice surprise for lunch.” 

Guess I’m headed to Florida, Morgan sighed to herself. She’d been surprised when she learned that the team was coming back to the states. It wasn’t that difficult to get some information, but the U.S. isn’t exactly a shoebox, so she had to finagle more information, and Skip with US Customs was one of the tactics she had to use. Grabbing her duffle that she kept packed and lived out of, she was calling using it to find a flight as she rushed downstairs and into the open. 

She hadn’t taken two steps before colliding with a wall of muscle. Damn it. Looking up she literally groaned out loud. “Roque.” She said, glaring up at Clay’s second in command. “What a pleasure.” She glanced down at her phone, locking the screen so he didn’t have a chance to see the flight information. 

“You don’t sound surprised to see me,” Roque said, stepping back and crossing his arms across his chest. “In fact, you don’t seem shocked that I’m in this pissant town.” 

Morgan bit her lip and looked up at him. “Did you guys really think that people who KNOW you would believe that a helicopter crash without the right number of bodies and just your dog tags left behind would be proof that you were dead?” She scoffed. “Pooch kept his wedding band. Jensen’s sister said the online view of the Petunia soccer games is showing someone watching faithfully from BOLIVIA of all fucking places. And Clay? He was dumb enough to name me his next of kin.” She unzipped her duffle and pulled out the folded flag and handed it to Roque. “I thought he’d like to have his flag.” 

“Mo-” She shook her head, stopping him. He held the flag loosely in his hands. He knew that Clay and her relationship was complicated at best, and screwed from the beginning at worst, but this, her here? 

“Look,” she said, another sigh and tipping her head back to look up at him. “I got used to keeping all of you in one piece. I had to make sure you were all alright. I-”

“Had to see him again for yourself.” Roque finished, pulling her into his arms. “Fuck, Clay and you, never quite understood it, but he shouldn’t have put this on your shoulders, Mo.”

She shrugged in his arms. “I wanted to be sure that all of you were safe. I know-” she stopped, giving up intel would suck, but she had to know their plans. Or at least something to keep her sanity about them staying safe. “I know you’re heading back to America. I know you won’t tell me anything, but-” She closed her eyes, pushing away the pain of not being with them, with HIM. “Tell me you’re going to be safe. Tell me that, and I’ll happily go back to my house. I’ll start up with the hospital that wants me so badly they can taste it, and I’ll move on.” 

Roque’s arms stiffened around her. He heard her pain. The pain of being apart from Clay and from their ragtag group. Mostly, he thought, from being apart from Clay. He didn’t trust the new girl. He didn’t believe her story or her insistence about what she wanted. Clay could be completely fucking ridiculous, but this chick? She was going to bring them low. How could he promise Morgan that they’d be safe when he didn’t believe it himself. “I’ll promise that we’ll stick together, Mo. I’ll promise that I have their backs and they got mine. That’s all I can promise.” 

She nodded and drew back. “Guess that’ll have to do, won’t it?” Her eyes were glassy and Roque realized he’d never seen Morgan cry. Pissed, screaming, and bossy he’d seen all that with her, but this? She was broken. He tried to hand her the flag, but she shook her head. “That’s Clay’s. Give it to him. Tell him goodbye.” He watched as she got in a waiting cab and drove away. He remembered the night she left them all behind. Remembered how it changed Clay. This? This was going to be the reckoning.

Clay looked up from the intel that Aisha had given them about the plan to be smuggled back to the states. He heard Roque walk in and was about to call him over when his second thumped a folded triangle of the stars and stripes down on the table in front of him. “What the fuck?” Clay asked, looking up at the glaring face of a man he’d count on anytime in his life. 

“Mo thought you’d like your flag.” Roque growled, throwing himself into a chair nearby. He looked up at Clay’s startled face. “Don’t worry, she’s gone.”   
“Gone?” Clay was afraid to touch the carefully folded flag, afraid he’d smell her on the fabric. “She was here?” 

Roque nodded. “She was checking on a feeling she had about us. Mo knew we weren’t dead, Clay.” He glared up at his commander. “She saw us, all of us. And she wanted to know why you named her next of kin.” 

Clay closed his eyes and fought the pain in his chest at the memory. He’d completely forgotten about that. He’d changed it when she joined them. He knew she’d be the only person on Earth he’d trust with his body, living or dead. “Fuck.” He gritted through his teeth. “What else does she know?” He had to force himself to the task at hand. Killing Max, hopefully getting their lives back. 

Roque shrugged. “Not much, that she’d tell me anyway.” He pulled out one of his knives and rolled it between his hands. “She wanted me to tell you ‘goodbye’. She said it was time to move on.”

“Move on?” Clay growled. “Move on? Is that a fucking joke? She’s the one who walked out on us, Roque. Her, not me. She walked out and told Jensen to tell us goodbye the last time. Morgan fucking Dean has walked out on me more times than I can fucking count. Move on, well fine let her fucking move on.” He pushed the flag out of his way and went back to the plan. “Aisha wants to have us unloaded here-” He was showing Roque the plan, but in his mind he was remembering that night. The last night he’d seen her in the flesh.

Morgan had worn a dress that would make any grown man fall to his knees. Then, as though she wasn’t a fucking walking wet dream already, she’d started stripping for him. Baring her shoulders, that fucking blue lily tattoo on her right shoulder blade shining against her pink skin, he’d watched mesmerized. 

She got down to the wisp of lace she jokingly called panties, and a bra that barely held her breasts. And what had he done? He opened his fucking mouth and ruined it. Again.

“You aren’t gonna run away as soon as we’re done, are you?” He’d been teasing, that’s what he told himself, but he didn’t believe it anymore. He was harboring the pain of waking up in her bed that first morning with the stupid note. He watched the pain flit across her face at the reminder. A reminder he gave EVERY goddamn time she gave herself to him. EVERY fucking time, but this time they didn’t even get to the giving part. 

She glared at him, hands on her hips and feet shoulder width apart. A soldier, through and through. “Every time, Clay, every time.” She shook her head as he tried to tease the stupidity of his own fucking mouth away. “You know what, Clay?” She started for his door, and turned back long enough to give him that heated look that could either ignite his fire or douse it. “FUCK YOU, CLAY!” She slammed the door behind her. 

Clay had sat on his bed, back against the wall, waiting. Usually she’d force herself back, to have even more of a verbal match, but she never came. He fumed that she’d just walk away, again. She always walked away. Always. It wasn’t until morning, when Jensen gave him a sad, but terrified look that he knew. She was gone. This time she wouldn’t just walk back in and get back to work.

His team had looked at him like he was the biggest fucking loser of them all. And for a while, he had to agree. As the other men joined Roque and him at the table, he tried to convince himself that he didn’t agree with the feeling like he’d ruined something. That he hadn’t pushed her right out the door that she’d slammed. That it wasn’t his butthurt pride that ruined his last time with Morgan. That looking at the flag they’d given her upon his death didn’t pierce right through him. Because that flag meant what words and screaming matched never did. She was done. Finished with him. And he had to blink away the pain, because she was his medic and she wasn’t here anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

Morgan ended up staying in Bolivia a week longer. She stayed closer to the airport, and hoped that she could just will Clay out of her system like she willed Roque to take his flag. She stayed in a nicer hotel. Air conditioning, booze, and food. That was what filled her last week in the country. She made flight plans, and hadn’t realized she never changed the destination back to her home.

Morgan stepped off the plane in Florida. Since she’d already confirmed the flight and she thought that she’d take a breather in the warmth before heading north. Back to her house and life. A life she put on hold for her team. She gathered her luggage and grabbed a taxi. She told the driver to take her to a hotel near the beach, and he complied.

Once she paid for a room, took her bags upstairs and put them away, she threw herself onto the king size bed. The view from her window was sand and water. The view inside of her was pain and suffering. She knew that Roque couldn’t promise to keep them all safe. She knew no one could promise that. She was a combat medic, she’d seen it all. She had thought knowing that Clay and the others were alive, that they were OK would calm her fears, but it hadn’t. If anything she was more worried. 

What was bringing them back to the states? Why would they risk it? She sighed and decided that a hot bath and rest might make her feel more human. As she was taking her toiletries into the bathroom, a knock came to her door. She couldn’t think of anyone who might come to her door, but looking out the peephole, she saw a well dressed man. Linen suit, handsome, she shrugged thinking she could handle a man who looked so metrosexual. 

Opening her door, she was about to ask what he wanted when her world went black. 

Clay had to admit, being shipped home in caskets wasn’t something he wanted to experience again. At least not while he was still alive. Aisha met them and gave more intel. Miami, a convoy, and Max.

Working with the others, the plan was set in motion. They needed a helicopter, magnet wench, and hope and prayer. Everything went off without a hitch, well much of a hitch. Max wasn’t inside the truck. Pooch had been seen by a henchman named Wade, and so Max now knew they were alive. 

Fuck. The only thing inside the damn truck was an encrypted harddrive. And even fucking Jensen couldn’t decrypt it. So another plan, another rant from Roque about his distrust of Aisha. Clay didn’t want to let the noise invade in his own coping mechanism. Fucking the younger woman, getting lost in her, it was a way to push Morgan out of his mind. Just like she walked away, he tried to force her out with this other woman. A woman that shared NOTHING with Morgan. 

The morning after he finally gave in and screwed Aisha, the van was tense. Roque glared at him and he could feel the heat of it. Pooch refused to move the van, refused to do anything until the two of them made up or made an attempt at peace. How? Clay wondered. How could they when Roque KNEW? He knew exactly why the sex happened with Aisha. He knew exactly how Morgan made Clay crazy, how much pain he was in from not seeing her in Bolivia, even though she apparently saw him. He knew it all. A half-assed attempt was made, enough to get Pooch moving at least. But Clay knew that Roque wouldn’t forgive him for it. Not for whatever he’d seen in Morgan’s face. Not for whatever she’d said to him. And definitely not for him finding solace in Aisha’s arms, a woman that Roque clearly didn’t trust.

Jensen was playing the largest role in an OP, yet, so heads needed to be in the game. As they went off to work, Clay had no idea where Max was, or what he was up to.

Morgan woke with a dry mouth and pain in her neck. What the literal fuck, she wondered, and realized it only got worse. She was tied to a hard metal chair in a barely lit room. Well, this doesn’t bode well.

“Ah, good, you’re awake.” A gruff voice said, coming into the light. He held himself like a soldier, buzz cut hair, standing at ease. “Didn’t know if the guy who developed that tranq knew what he was doing. Worried you might not come out of it.” 

She rolled her eyes. “That’s damn professional. Kidnap a victim with an unknown substance and cross your fingers and hope it doesn’t kill her?” She rolled her shoulders. “How long have I been out?”

“A day and a couple hours.” The man moved closer and Morgan thought he looked somewhat familiar. “Don’t remember me, do you?” 

Morgan studied his face. “You look familiar, but I’ve worked on too many soldiers to remember every face.” She tugged against the flex cuffs holding her hands tight behind the chair. 

“Yeah, I can understand that. I used to be a marine, you were our medic in-”

Morgan nodded. “Travis, wasn’t it?” She remembered the wound, he’d taken the pain well. “Did you hate the treatment so much I have to be punished for it?” She joked, raising her shoulders. 

He chuckled. “No, you’re here because of Clay.” Of course she was, she thought. “My employer knows you’re important to him, so here you are.” 

“Ah,” she said with a nod. “Afraid that’s bad intel on me, Travis. I’m not important to Clay. He’s my former boss, that’s all.” 

Another voice came out of the darkness. A snort and laugh. “Do you expect me to believe that, Captain Dean?” He came out into the light and she recognized him as the metrosexual man she thought she could take at her hotel. 

She shrugged. “I can’t expect anyone to believe anything. I just know that you’re wrong. I am nothing to Franklin Clay.” She tried to get comfortable in the unforgiving chair. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” She asked, looking up at his face. “I mean, you know me, I know former marine Travis, I don’t have a fucking clue who you are.”

The man smiled and Morgan thought if he hadn’t kidnapped her and drugged her, she might have found him slightly attractive. Or not, she thought as he drew nearer and gripped her neck tight in one deceptively powerful gloved hand. “My name doesn’t matter, Captain Dean. What matters is that Clay and his little boys are handled, like they were supposed to be in that jungle.” 

“Max, I presume,” Morgan said, refusing to allow him to see any fear she might harbor. She watched his eyes widen. “Was I not supposed to guess?” She shrugged as his grip tightened and her throat burned. “Oops,” she whispered, forcing it out past as she tried to breathe. 

He released her throat and fixed his suit and glove. She didn’t pant or show any distress and his face showed he was unnerved by it. “We’ll see, Captain Dean. We’ll see.” He turned and addressed Travis. “Wade, make sure that the Captain is kept as uncomfortable as possible, please.” 

She saw Travis flinch at the thought, but as with Max, she’d be damned if he saw any fear from her. “And I thought we were cultivating a beautiful friendship, Max.” She mocked, smiling at his stiffening back. “Guess the honeymoon period is over, huh?” 

“Really fucking uncomfortable, Wade.” Max growled, walking out of her sight. 

Travis moved closer to her and looked down with something of an apologetic air. “Might as well get it over with, soldier,” Morgan said, meeting his eyes. “After all, Max wouldn’t want to see you slacking on the job, would he?” 

Travis took a breath and pulled his fist back as Morgan prepared for the first of many strikes she’d earned in Max’s estimation. 

SKIPPY FROM TECH

Jensen had made a good showing. It was touch or go for a minute, but he’d gotten what he needed from Goliath Worldwide. He was learning a lot, such as the fact that Roque was probably right about Aisha. Clay was alone with her, and Jensen had to tell the others. 

In route to their commander’s rescue, Roque finally told the others about Morgan’s visit to Bolivia. Jensen sighed and looked at his lap. “She didn’t even come say hello.” He said, his voice as sad as a little kid denied their favorite toy.

“She couldn’t, Jensen.” Roque said, tense about being right about Clay’s little diversion. “She just wanted to be sure we were alright, and she wanted to deliver Clay’s flag to him.” 

“His flag?” Pooch asked, driving like a fucking maniac. “What flag?”

“The one our families or next of kin get when we die, or pretend to.” Jensen answered, looking up with wide eyes. “He named Mo as his next of kin?” 

The rest of them got quiet. They arrived and rushed to Clay’s age, and Aisha shot Jensen in the arm. As they tried to decide what their next move would be, Jensen made a comment that caused the world to stop moving. “If Mo was here, she’d fix this entire fucking mess. And my fucking arm. And do it with a fucking smile.” He was in pain, he was pissed off, and he wasn’t pulling punches.

Clay glared down at Jensen, but Roque stepped into his line of sight. “He’s right.” Roque said, daring Clay to deny it. “Mo always had our fucking backs, always. Right up until you pushed her once too far.” His face was inches from Clay’s. “You created this fucking mess. You trusted Aisha. You did this. So now, fix it.” 

He turned his back on Clay and Clay was stunned. She left them, but he was the one who fucked up? What the hell? Then he realized what they saw. What they noticed while he was feeding his feelings of hurt pride. She had rushed to Bolivia on a HUNCH they might be alive. She had watched them, but hadn’t once tried to contact them, because she knew that someone might connect her to them. She had done what she’d always done. She kept their asses safe. And he was pissed because she left. She’d no doubt seen him with Aisha, since Roque brought the flag to him the day after the hotel fire. For fuck’s sake, could he fucking fuck up more than he already did?

Roque offers Clay an idea, a fucked up and weird idea, one that ANYONE knowing their team well wouldn’t even entertain as being possible. Roque wanted to contact Wade, offering up the team to Max, for his freedom. Max and Wade are going to believe it, Roque convinces them, because they have no real knowledge of their team. And the plan starts to hatch.

Morgan was still tied to the damn chair. Her hair felt like it was matted with enough blood to kill a normal human, but she knew it wasn’t nearly that bad. Not yet, anyway. Travis was nothing if not thorough. She spit a mouthful of blood onto the concrete floor and waited for the next blow to come. 

Travis started forward, but was stopped when his phone rang. “Well, shit, Travis I thought we were having some fun.” Morgan teased, her breath coming out in a rush, and thankful for whatever fucking call he was taking. Travis turned to answer the call. He moved far enough away that nothing he said made sense. 

Turning back to her when he hung up, he moved closer and gripped her hair in his fist. He brought his face close to hers and glared into the slits of her swollen eyes. “You need to tell me something, Dean. I need you to tell me if you think that Roque would EVER turn on your team. Would he save himself at their expense?” 

Morgan considered his questions, considered the call. Clearly Roque called Travis, the truth was almost out of her when she changed the words. “Absolutely. Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you want your fucking life back after your commander fucked your life over? Wouldn’t you want to be free of that noise?” She gulped down some saliva, it tasted like iron, more blood. “Why would you ask?”

He released her hair and stepped back, avoiding puddles of spit and blood. He turned and walked away from her, not looking back and not answering.

Morgan wondered, now that the torture was over, if anyone would come back for her. Would anyone find her? Or would she die here, alone and tied to a fucking chair?


	4. Chapter 4

The plan nearly worked. Almost, sort of. OK it was a clusterfuck that would have gotten them all killed, but in the end the Losers triumphed. Sort of. Max was still free, but his operation was ruined. The entire thing collapsed, all thanks to Roque’s amazing plan. Even if he did have to knock Clay out to make it believable. Clay was trying desperately to pretend Roque didn’t enjoy it, just a little too much. 

They were clearing containers, and warehouses when everyone heard Jensen’s screaming. Rushing toward the building the scream came from, everyone stopped in their tracks when they saw Morgan in his arms. She was limp, too limp. 

Morgan was losing consciousness. She was fighting it, the blood loss, the pain of broken and battered insides and out. And she was losing. She thought she saw bright light flood the room, but how could she? There wasn't a bright light here, maybe in heaven, she thought. 

There was more pain. A tugging. A voice from far off calling her name. A scream. Then more pain, the feeling of being weightless. Then silence. 

“What the fuck?” Clay rushed forward, ignoring Aisha’s questions about who she was. He looked up at Jensen, at the pain on his face, at the dried and wet blood all over Morgan’s body. “How did she- Why is she?” He tried to take her from Jensen, but he wouldn’t release her. 

“Is she-” Pooch choked on the words, being held up by Cougar who was blinking back his own tears. 

Jensen looked down at her limp body. “She made some noises a minute ago, but-” He gulped, holding on to her even as Clay was checking for a pulse. 

Clay sighed, and raised his head with a small smile. “She’s still here. It’s thready, but it’s beating.” That got everyone moving again. Roque rushed for a car, any car, while Aisha faded out of their attention. Getting Morgan into the SUV that Rogue screeched up in wasn’t easy, not with Jensen refusing to sit anywhere but beside her. It was remedied by him and Clay taking the backseat with Cougar, so Morgan’s body could lay across their laps. Pooch and Roque got in the front. No one even noticed the absence of Aisha. 

The hospital wasn’t far, but traffic sucked and they all did something that none of them would admit to. They all prayed. Prayed that Morgan would get to the hospital in time. Prayed that she’d live. And Clay, he prayed that he’d get a chance to make it all better. Everything, anything he needed to know she would live.

Morgan was laying on a stretcher in the ER that made her look even tinier. Pooch was off being taken care of himself, but the others were crowded in the waiting room. Clay had seen her being rushed into the ER, heard the doctor tell him that surgery was needed. Heard that there weren't any promises when it came to her recovery or even her waking up again. He shook his head. Didn’t the doctor understand? Didn’t he know that she had to survive?

Roque sat beside him, tense and waiting. Pooch came in after an hour. The vigil began in earnest then. Five men sitting in a small room waiting to learn if Morgan would survive the trauma that none of them understood. 

“Who did it?” Pooch asked, looking around at his teammates. “Who would do that to Morgan? She wasn’t even with us anymore.” 

Jensen was looking at his blood stained hands. He hadn’t gone to wash them off yet. He didn’t seem able to. Cougar was thinking, quietly debating the reason she’d been taken.

“Because,” Roque answered, looking at Clay. “Because Max figured it out. He knew that she was important, even if she wasn’t WITH us. She was WITH us.” 

Clay wouldn’t look up. He couldn’t. This was his fault. All of it. Every single thing that brought them from that night you left, to now. In his head the same chant kept looping, “she has to survive, she has to live, I can’t survive if she doesn’t.” 

“Come on,” Cougar said, trying to pull Jensen to his feet. “You need to clean up.” 

Jensen shook his head, still staring at his hands. “She was so limp. So limp.” His voice was gripped in pain. “Her blood, it was everywhere. All over the floor. Her hair.” He couldn’t look up and he couldn’t stop. “She said it hurt. That was it, that it hurt. Then nothing.” 

They were all so wrapped up in their pain that they nearly didn’t see the doctor approach the waiting room. He walked inside and they all looked up, hoping for good news.


	5. Chapter 5

Morgan felt like a house fell on her. Everything hurt. Her teeth, her hair, her head, her feet. There wasn’t an inch of her body that didn’t feel like it was battered or bruised. She woke up with enough pain for the entire fucking Naval Academy.

She looked around, trying to decide where she was, a hospital obviously. Since she was hooked up to enough monitors and had enough IVs to feed a small nation, she had to assume she’d been found in time. In time to be saved, but by who?

Her heart monitor alerted the nursing station that she was awake, that sharp spike of unease made everyone’s heart ratchet up. A kind looking nurse walked in and smiled. “Thank goodness you’re awake!” She greeted Morgan, walking to turn the monitor’s warning screech off. “Your visitors are pretty scary, especially when you’re completely out of it and the doctor keeps having to explain that you’ll wake when you feel like waking.” She smiled down at her patient. “You’d understand, they told us you’re a doctor yourself.” She checked the IVs and then asked Morgan the two most important questions she had ever heard. “Are you in pain?” Morgan tried to shrug her shoulder, but a flare of intense pain flared through her. “So that’s a yes,” the nurse smiled. “Are you up for visitors?”

“Yes,” Morgan’s voice was hoarse. “Where am I?” She asked, once the nurse gave her a sip of water from a cup with a straw.

“Los Angeles.” She noticed Morgan’s grimace. “Do you know your name?” Suddenly realizing that she hadn’t asked that important question.

“Captain Morgan Dean.” Morgan answered promptly. “And if I haven’t been out for years, the current President of the United States is an asshole I didn’t vote for.” That made the nurse chuckle. “Who brought me in?”

“Let me go get them,” the nurse answered with a grin. “If I don’t inform them immediately, I’m afraid they’ll tear the hospital apart.” Before she left she told Morgan she’d send the doctor in to see her soon.

The first head to pop in the door, a few moments later, was Jensen’s. Morgan tried to smile, but her face hurt. Then came Cougar, Pooch, Roque, and finally Clay. “Well, look at this,” she said, feeling her body scream at the effort. “The gang’s all here.”

“Lie still,” Jensen whispered, coming closer and standing right beside her. “You’re more banged up than any of us have ever been.”

“That Wade Travis,” she joked, gasping when her ribs protested. “He’s a dedicated employee isn’t he?”

A growl came out of one of their throats, but her eyes were still swollen, so it was hard to pinpoint the source. “Tell me I’m still at least a little pretty, guys,” she whispered, feeling their tension roll over her. “I mean, I can't survive on my charm alone.”

“You’re fucking beautiful, Morgan,” Clay’s voice piped up from the other side of her bed, at her head, as he tried to reach in and touch her, but every part of her was badaged, bruised, or hooked up to a machine. “Always have been, always will be.”

“A poet,” she said, looking up at his vague outline. “Well, thanks for the attempt to make me feel better.”

The silence became overwhelming. She couldn’t stand pity, or whatever they were all so focused on. “So with one vote for ‘I’m still pretty’, let’s try this again. Which one of you found me and rescued me?”

Jensen gave a half-hearted chuckle. “That was me. I thought-” He took a ragged breath. “You weren’t moving, and I thought-”

Morgan tried a smile again, and figured the pain was worth soothing her hero. “Aw, Jensen, I’m great. I mean, a day or two more and I’ll be up and ready to dance.” Again the silence descended. “Unless you guys know something I don’t.” She finally let her fear come out in her voice.

The doctor looked around the waiting room at the men sitting in a clutch. One was still coated in the woman’s blood, and there were smears of it on two others. He cleared his throat and five pairs of eyes flashed to him.

The leader, clear because he stood faster than the others, confronted him. He held up a hand to stop a flood of questions. “Her surgery went well. She’s unconscious, which is a relief, she needs the rest to begin healing. I could list her injuries, but honestly, I’m not sure I’d even get all of them out.” He sighed, whatever had befallen Captain Dean was horrific. “I hope that whomever caused the damage is-”

“That person was taken care of, Sir.” The young man coated in her blood assured him.

“Good,” the doctor didn’t condone violence, but what Captain Dean had been put through, it was beyond what he’d even seen in car crashes. “As for her recovery.” He stopped, took off his own glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t promise anything. She’s had extensive internal injuries. She didn’t suffer any spinal injuries, that we could see from the x-rays, but that doesn’t mean that she’s going to pop up tomorrow and return to her regular life. If she even wakes up tomorrow.”

“Doc,” Clay started, feeling his chest tighten, “is she gonna wake up?”

“That’s up to her,” the doctor answered honestly. “Right now, being out is good. It means she’s quiet, she’s still, and that allows healing to happen.” He sighed and moved to an empty chair. “The truth is this, gentlemen, Captain Dean has been through such trauma that her brain may not recover. If it does recover, her medical career may very well be over. The nerve damage, the blood loss, the things that the person who did this inflicted on her body, it was more extensive than I’ve ever seen.” He looked at the men gathered around him. “Right now she’s in ICU. Her visitations are limited, her care is extreme. She can see one of you at a time, and for only five minutes each.” He stood back up and offered at least some hope. “She’s a fighter, gentlemen, that I can assure you. Anyone else her size that went through the same trauma, wouldn’t have made it to the hospital.”

Morgan waited for one of them to answer, but a new voice broke the silence. “Ah, Captain Dean, I see you’re awake.” A pin light was flashed in the slits where her eyes were usually seen. She blinked against the brightness. “I’m sorry, I have to check.”

“I know,” she groaned, as his hands moved to her head. “Fuck, that hurts!”

The doctor chuckled a little. “Tender or pain?”

“PAIN,” she screamed. “Like a fucking ton of pain.”

Another chuckle. “Don’t scream out so much, these gentlemen look tense enough without your help.” He checked her over and came back to her head. “Aside from the pain, is there any other discomfort?”

“I think the pain is enough,” she gritted out. “I was asking the ‘gentlemen’ here what my prognosis is, they got a little too quiet for my tastes.”

The doctor sighed. “That’s because they don’t know.” He drew her gaze, hazing and slitted though it was to his face. “I’m not going to lie to another physician, Captain Dean. It wasn’t good, not when you went under for surgery a week ago.” He saw her taking the news in stride. “But you’re awake, you seem to have your faculties about you, you’re giving these men a hard time. I think the prognosis is getting better by the minute.” He touched her hand gently. “You’re very lucky, Captain. Your team did everything to make sure you had a chance.”

He left after a brief chat with the others. Morgan was about to drift off again, and she’d only been awake for like a half an hour. That sucked. “You tired, Mo?” Jensen’s voice called to her through the dim.

She hummed her affirmative. She felt his hand brush her bangs back from her forehead. “You scared the shit out of me, Mo.” His voice was tight and quiet. “Thought I’d found you only to have to say goodbye again. NEVER do that again.” She gave a tiny chuckle. “Clay’s not the only one who’d die without you.”

And that was all she heard before the darkness took her again. Darkness and drugs.

The next time Morgan woke, the pain was dimmer. Thank fucking God, she thought as a hand brought her straw to her lips. She sipped, not opening her swollen eyes yet. “Thank you.” She whispered, her voice still raw. “Whoever you are.”

His chuckle, she’d know it anywhere. “Scared the fucking hell out of me, Morgan.” Clay sat the cup down on the rolling table and stood over her. Her face was swollen, bruised, and he wanted to kill Wade all over again. And Max, well Max was adding to his bill. “When Roque gave me that fucking flag-”

“Shh.” She said, hushing him. “Let’s just not, not right now, please?” She was pleading with him, and he felt like his heart was clenching again. “Let’s just pretend that I’ve been tortured and survived, shall we?”

He chuckled again. Trust Morgan to make a fucking joke about her reality. “Fine, we’ll do it your way.” He wanted to touch her. “We’ll pretend a sadistic employee of the month tortured you and we fucking killed him. How does that sound?”

She smiled, or tried to, it looked painful. “That sounds wonderful. Wade Travis dead. Ah, paradise.” Her eyes opened, as much as they could and trained on his face. “Where are the others?”

“It was my turn for alone time with you,” he whispered, brushing her bangs back from her bruised forehead. “Or I kicked them the fuck out, whichever makes you less pissed.”

She gave a hoarse chuckle. “I’m not sure which would work to keep me pleasant, so we’ll pretend that I’m happy to be alone with you.”

He nodded, wishing that he could kiss her. Kiss her and make the entire ordeal disappear and she’d be better. “That works.” He smiled, his dimples coming out and he hoped she could see them. “I missed you.”

She sighed. “Me too.” Her hand was tugging on her blanket, a rare sign of stress and he knew it. “I didn’t understand that damn flag, but I’m glad I took it to Bolivia. Sit, Clay, I hate when you hover.”

He pulled a chair closer to the bed and lowered the guardrail so he could move even closer to her. “There isn’t anyone, and I mean ANYONE, that I trust more than you with my entire being, Morgan.” His hand brushed her fidgeting hand. “I put you down as my next of kin the day you signed up with our team. I knew that you were it for me.”

She looked over at him, grimacing at the tenderness in her neck. He could still see the fingerprints marking the flesh. “I fought it, Clay, fought you and me. And you kept fucking pushing.” She didn’t sound mad, she wasn’t, not anymore. “You were my commanding officer, Clay, that first night shouldn’t have happened. At least that’s what I thought at the time. That’s why I left the fucking note that you kept tossing back in my damn face. Why I ran.” His fingers were still light on her hand, so she turned it over palm up and linked her fingers with his. “I almost died after you faked your own fucking death and I never told you-”

It was Clay’s turn to shush her. “Don’t, Morgan. We have all the time in the world.” He leaned over and chanced a kiss on her forehead. He felt her groan and pulled away. “Did that hurt?”

“A little, but it was worth it.” She smirked, and realized that didn’t hurt. “You know why he took me?”

Clay nodded. “He had my personnel file. He saw you listed as next of kin.” The urge to clutch her to him and never let go rushed through him. “My fault again.”

“Nah,” she answered, brushing that shit off. “He took me for that, sure, but he had me beaten and tortured for my own fucking mouth.” She smirked again as he took in her face. “What? Did you think you’re the only person who says the wrong fucking thing at the wrong fucking time?” She rolled her eyes and found that motion actually did hurt. Damn it.

“What’s wrong, baby, should I get the doctor?” He was fearful still, terrified that the worst was yet to come.

“No, I’m fine.” She grouched. “It pisses me off that I can’t roll my fucking eyes without feeling like a mother fucking house fell on my head, but I’ll live.”

His chuckle came again. “Max is still out there, Morgan.” He was sobered by that reality. “We can’t be free until he’s taken down, not fully anyway.”

Morgan sighed. “We’ll get him, then.” Simple enough. “Pooch go home to Jolene for the baby yet?”

Clay knew that dismissal meant she wasn’t ready to deal with Max. “Not yet, still got a few weeks.”

She tried to nod and another rush of pain hit her. “FUCK!” She growled. He tensed, ready to punch the button for the nurse, but she squeezed his hand. “I’m FINE, Clay. Just irritated beyond belief with this whole invalid, pain filled bullshit.” She groaned and looked up at his face again. “Kind of wish Wade wasn’t dead, so I could punch him repeatedly in his tiny little dick until he cried.”

Clay laughed, and then they were interrupted by Jensen’s voice. “What’s so funny?”

Morgan gestured for him to join them. “Apparently Clay here thinks it’s funny that I’m in pain.” She made a pouty face and met the younger man’s eyes. “He laughs at my pain.”

Clay shook his head. “I was laughing because even as a pain filled invalid, Morgan here harbors the darkest urges imaginable. She wishes we’d revive Wade’s corpse so she can dick punch him to a sobbing mess.”

Jensen smiled down at the thought. “Sounds fun, I’ll download a necronomicon and we’ll get to work, Mo.” Morgan chuckled as Clay’s eyebrows wrinkled.

“Geeks,” he muttered, standing and giving Morgan’s forehead a very gentle kiss. “I’ll be back in a bit, baby.” He shot a look at Jensen and the younger man saluted him. “Don’t tire her out too much, Jensen.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sir.” He mocked. Morgan tried to hold back her laughter, but couldn’t it broke and got a glare from Clay at the door.

“Behave yourselves,” he rolled his eyes and left.

Morgan rolled her head to look at Jensen. “Why don’t you take your fearless leader’s seat?” She gestured to the chair Clay left close to her bed. “Then you won’t be hovering over me either.” She muttered about being surrounded by giant men as Jensen got comfortable in the abandoned chair. “There, my hero.”

“Ah, Mo, that’s not-” Jensen blushed, trying to deny his rescue.

Morgan shook her head, gasped at the pain and moved on to what she wanted to say. “You saved me, Jen. I’m a doctor, I know it.” She closed her eyes and swallowed. When she reopened them, Jensen was holding the straw to her lips. She took a few sips and pushed it away. “Thank you. As I was saying, I know how bad it was. Maybe not the full extent, but I knew that if I wasn’t found, if I slipped under the unconsciousness, then I wasn’t going to make it.” Jensen put the cup back on the rolling table. “So, you’re my fucking hero, Jen, even if you want to fucking deny it.” She reached the hand that Clay held and took Jensen’s. Their fingers linked and he kissed her knuckles. “Thank you, Jen, for getting to me in time. For finding me. And for getting me out of that hole.”

Jensen looked into her eyes. “I saw you, strapped to that fucking chair, Mo. You were limp, but I swear I heard you say something.” He swallowed down the fear he’d had when he found her bloody in that fucking building. “All I could think about was keeping you here, with us, with me.” She stared at his blue eyes behind the ever present glasses. “I couldn’t check to see- I couldn’t stop to find your pulse, I don’t think I fucking breathed once I got you outside until Clay found it.” He licked his lips. “All I could think was that you’d promised we’d see one another again, and that was going to be the last time. That your blood all over me was as close as I’d ever get to holding you.”

Morgan swallowed. How had she missed it? Missed that beautiful, awkward Jake Jensen cared for her? Fucking idiot. “Jen,” she started, thinking that if Clay heard this all hell would break loose. “Jensen?”

His eyes were blazing behind his glasses. “I know that you and Clay are complicated. I know how you both feel about one another, I’m not stupid, Mo.” His hand held hers like she was made of glass. “But I also know that I’d never brush you aside, or try to forget you. Aside from my niece and my sister, you’re the only other person who’s haunted my dreams since we’ve been playing dead.” He licked his lip and stared into her eyes. “I wanted nothing more than to find my way back to make sure you were alright. You, Mo, just you.”

They heard a throat clear and Morgan looked up from the tense little bubble they’d created. Her doctor was standing in the doorway with a nurse. “Time for a check up, Captain.” The doctor smiled, and Jensen started to pull his hand away. “He can stay if you want him to,” the doctor gestured to the clasped hands.

“Please,” Morgan asked, looking back at Jensen. “Stay with me?”

His smile was breathtaking. “Absolutely.”


	6. Chapter 6

Jensen stayed with her until the doctor performed a more thorough form of a similar exam that he’d given her the day before. He held her hand the entire time, releasing it only when he absolutely needed to. He gave comforting squeezes when she flinched, or bit her lip (which also hurt like fucking hell), or gasped in pain. 

When the doctor was through, Jensen had to leave. He wouldn’t tell her why or where he had to go, just as Clay hadn’t, but he was relieved by Pooch and Cougar. Apparently Morgan was being guarded. Fun.

“How’s Jolene?” She asked, as soon as Pooch took the seat that Jensen vacated. “When are you surprising her with a visit?” 

Pooch chuckled. “Trying to make believe we aren’t visiting your bedside in a fucking hospital, Mo?” She smirked. “She’s fine. Jensen has ways to keep me informed.” 

“Oh, I know the ways that Jensen keeps everyone informed. His sister knows he’s alive because of his data footprint.” She tried to laugh, but her chest screamed. “Stop fucking fussing.” She gritted out when he tried shushing her. Cougar was smirking from his perch by the window. “Don’t get me started on how fucking simple it was to find you, Romeo.” His smirk sobered. “Just follow all the panting women. You know what they were calling you?” She saw a reddish tint flood his face. “I translated it. And, let me tell you, I NEVER wanted to know that about you.” 

Pooch grinned. “I want to know.” 

“No, you really don’t.” She answered, smirking because that still didn’t hurt. “I’m not pretending that I’m not laying in a hospital bed, Pooch. I can’t pretend. Hell, I can’t fucking get up to pee. They have a catheter in me. Among other things.” She grimaced and found this expression also didn’t hurt. “What I’d like to know, however, is why I’m under constant guard?” 

They both looked uncomfortable. Which was strange. If the only threat was Max, that psycho asshole, then they’d mention it. Where was the other issue? 

“Damn it,” She muttered. “Did Clay tell you not to tell me?” She glared at the two of them, feeling the rage numb any pain in her face. “Because, while I may look fragile, I promise you I’m not.” 

“We know you’re not.” Cougar answered, the man of few words nearly surprising her. “If you were, you wouldn’t be here now.” 

Pooch nodded, taking her hand gently. “You have to heal, Mo. That’s your full time job right now. That’s all you have to do.” His thumb stroked the back of her hand. “You want to be up and running when Jolene gives birth right?” 

Traitor, she thought. “Of course, you ass.” She wanted to argue, but these two would never budge. “How long do I have to prepare?” 

“Couple weeks, nearly a month.” He answered, a smile lighting up his face. “Get your ass working, Mo.” He winked and they settled into the cozy familiarity of family and a team. 

Talking about everything except what she wanted to talk about. Why she was being kept closely watched.

Roque took his turn when Pooch and Cougar had to leave. Good, the one man who didn’t fear Clay on the team. He sat down in the now favored chair, grinning at her like they shared a secret. Which she hoped they did. 

“You look like shit, Mo.” He whistled and his grin grew. 

She shook her head as much as she could without being brought down with more pain, which wasn’t much. “Always such a charmer, Ro.” Her smirk, now recurrent since it didn’t make her want to die returned. “I’m glad to see you, well, the parts I can see of you. Wade had better be so happy he’s fucking dead already.” 

Ro laughed, and she gave a small chuckle. Her ribs didn’t want to complain, so that was welcome. “God, I missed you, Mo.” His huge paw took her up. “Scared the shit out of us when Jensen carried your ass out of that fucking container. 

“So I’ve heard.” She sighed. “Why are you here, Ro?”

His face lost the amusement, and stared deep into the slits of her swollen eyes. “What do you mean?” 

She snorted. “Cut the shit. I haven’t been alone since I came to, and from what the nurse said when I came to, you guys didn’t leave me even when I was unconscious.” She stared straight back. “Now, I know Max got away, but by my estimation, with the five of you alive, that means that most if not all of his men are dead.” Ro looked a tad uncomfortable. “Max is a pussy. He doesn’t get his gloves dirty. Where’s the threat?” 

Clay came back, and saw that Roque and Morgan were having a rather intense conversation. That didn’t bode well at all. “I’m back.” And there it was, even through her swollen, bruised face. Even with her lip split, and her eyes barely slits. The look of disappointment. Shit.

“Clay,” Roque answered, standing up. “Mo, I’ll see you later.” He leaned over and gave her a soft kiss on her forehead. “No stress.” He ordered, walking past Clay like he wasn’t even there. Fuck. 

Clay went to the bed and took the chair he’d placed there that morning. God, was it mere hours ago? It felt like years, and the way she was looking at him, it was like reliving her leaving. “Morgan, honey, is something wrong?” Best to just bandaid this shit. Tear it off, and pray they can move past it. 

“Been getting more intel from Aisha?” She asked, looking just over his shoulder. Damn him and his fucking dimples. Not this time, no distractions. “Because I realized when you left and were replaced by Jensen. And he left, and was replaced by Cougar and Pooch.” She felt her jaw clench, and while it hurt like fuck it grounded her. “Then, low and behold, when they left, there was Roque.” While she hurt so much she was tempted to touch that little pain medicine button that the doctor and nurse had repeatedly shown her, she refused. No more distractions. “I know Max is loose. But I think we both know that Max doesn’t usually do the dirty work, does he? Where’s the real threat?”

He was looking down at the bed, where her hand was clenched on the blanket again. Her tell. “I can explain.”

She snorted. “You’re still in bed with the enemy, Clay. Either figurative or both figurative and literally.” Her gaze was still on the darkening window sill. “I don’t really care, but I hate being lied to. Or treated like a fucking civilan or worse, a child.” 

Clay was tempted to take her hand. To try to sooth her, but he knew Morgan. Knew her just like he knew his own hand. Touching her hand would set her off. She’d feel it was proof that he didn’t believe she could handle it. That she was weak. And Captain Morgan Dean hated feeling weak. 

He sighed. “It’s not like that.” He knew she wasn’t looking at him. Knew she wouldn’t at this point. “Not anymore.” 

“Really?” She smirked at him. “The two of you burned down a hotel in Bolivia, Clay. That’s pretty extreme foreplay, even for you.” A huff of breath, and then she did fix her gaze on him. “I don’t care. You and I, we aren’t a thing. We’re a really bad cocktail of combustible bullshit, that seems to make the other person feel like shit, even when that’s not our goal.” She fought the tears that wanted to come, but she refused. Not today. “Is she a threat to me?” That was all she needed to know. 

“I don’t know.” He whispered, feeling his chest tighten. Not like this, he thought, not now. “She, we have a mutually beneficial situation, but it’s tense.” 

Morgan laughed, deciding that she could feel this pain now, it was worth it. “Am I a threat because of this beneficial relationship? Did you fall for ANOTHER psycho?” He didn’t answer, too stunned by her reaction. “Get out.” He stayed seated. “Leave. Watch me from the waiting room. Send back in one of the others. Whatever it is, get out, Clay. Now.” 

“Don’t do this, Morgan.” He pleaded. Needing to see her, to know she was not just safe, but here. Alive, touchable, and possibly his. “Don’t make me-”

“You’re the superior officer, Clay, I can’t make you do anything.” Morgan glared at him. “I’m REQUESTING a new guard detail. If you find suitable forms, I’ll even fill them out to make it official.” Her voice was rough, her throat screaming at her to calm down, but this was a bridge too far. “Leave. Send someone else. Hell, send Aisha, let’s see if she’s really such a fucking threat. After all, it’s not like I’m in fighting shape, is it?” 

Clay knew she was done. At least for now. He stood up and started for the door. Before he could leave, she gave him one more request.

“Send Jensen, if he’s not too busy.” And with that, he left, out to the waiting room. Out to call in Jensen. Because right now, he’d give her anything she wanted, just to make her get better faster.


	7. Chapter 7

Morgan was settling back into her own house. Her own space, her own hospital and doctors. The treatment plan, physical therapy, and pain management information had gotten to her doctors before she made it across the country to follow them.

Her former team, all except her former commanding officer, helped her. She tried to pretend it was simply as former teammates, friendly, or like the family she’d adopted and who adopted her back. If Morgan could pretend that was the ONLY reason they hovered near her, she could breathe a little easier. Otherwise, she became the weak one. The one that needed protecting. And honestly, she’d had enough humiliation to last a goddamn lifetime.

Clay stayed away, but he got regular reports. Sort of. Jensen always looked uncomfortable to tell him anything that went on during his time with Morgan, and if Clay ever considered the other man a viable threat to the relationship he wanted with Morgan it may have been an issue. But Jensen? Really?

Roque glared through his debriefings. Usually reminding Clay that this was entirely his own fucking fault. If he’d only told Mo from the get go what was going on, but no, and now he had to shake down the rest of the team for every tidbit of information he could garner. And then came the sarcastic reporting. What she ate, how often she went to the bathroom, what she was watching on DVR. Shit that had Clay gritting his teeth at his second.

Pooch and Cougar played along, but Clay could see it was chafing his men to keep this up. He tried to make them understand. That Max was most definitely a threat, which meant that Aisha had to be kept in the loop so she would share intel with them. And since he’d admitted that he killed her father, that meant that Morgan was still in danger. It made sense to them, and it was true, but he knew being stateside meant that they should be able to make contact with their loved ones. Especially now that Jolene was in the home stretch of her pregnancy.

Morgan loved being home. She was moving more easily, thanks to physical therapy. She wasn’t in pain. She had even started at the hospital that had been so set on having her. It was the same hospital that Jolene was scheduled to deliver at, and she’d giddily told Pooch that Jo had asked her to attend the birth. That would make getting him in and out a bit easier, if they could manage to get him past the front doors and security.

At work, more peaceful than Germany by MILES, she was easing back into her work. Rounds, but no surgery just yet. Consultations, and second opinions. It was work, though, and it felt amazing to be back. The guys were still in and out daily. She was sure that they were also keeping an eye on the hospital, but if she couldn’t see them, then she could pretend they weren’t there.

It was easy to be lulled back into the feeling of security. The sense of safety that rolled around her while she was in her own house, or her own hospital. Her car, her yard, the places that she’d made her own. And she was NEARLY at full strength.

Morgan didn’t ask how the hunt for Max was going. She wasn’t a part of that life anymore. She was a civilian now. A regular run of the mill doctor who eventually would be back in the scalpel again. And she looked forward to the time when she could get back to real physical training. Her body was feeling too loose for her liking. And she nearly threw a fit when the guys had handed her a multitude of self defense sprays, whistles, and other things that screamed “weak female”.

“You do know I own multiple guns,” she reminded Cougar as he dangled a sparkly can of pepper spray in front of her face on a keychain. “And multiple cans of actual police grade mace. And tasers, I have a dozen.” She glared at the bedazzled canister. “What the literal fuck is this? Is it a stripper when it isn’t trying to defend one?” She took it and shook it. “Ew my eyes. Seriously, Coug, does it come with matching pasties?”

That got a smirk out of him. He raised an eyebrow and that was that.

Morgan tossed the offending thing into a bowl she’d started to collect the other useless shit they’d brought her. “My collection grows,” she muttered, hearing Cougar’s leaving as Jensen walked in. “Hey, you!” She called, still glaring at the bowl full of girly bullshit. “Did you bring me more of this?” She asked, gesturing to the bowl.

He laughed, and shook his head. “Nah, I brought you this-” He pulled out a shopping bag and sat it on the table. “Trust me, you’ll like the contents much better than- What is the pink thing that glows?”

“Which one?” She offered carelessly. Pulling the bag toward her, she peaked in and a grin spread across her face. “Holy shit.” She pulled out the full collection of Disney Princess DVDs and movie sized snacks, all her favorites. “Movie night?” She almost squealed with delight, but decided on a bear hug instead. “This is why you’re my favorite, Jen.”

After the fifth movie, and ordering pizza in, they collapsed on the couch and laughing at the fact that two highly trained and efficient killers could enjoy Disney movies with as much glee as they did. “Beauty and the Beast.” Mo answered the most important question of movie night. “Hands down, the best.”

Jensen shook his head. “Nah, doesn’t hold a candle to Little Mermaid.” He tossed the crust of his God knows how many slices of pizza back in the box. “This was a lot of fun, Mo.”

“Are you quitting on me, Jen?” She asked, holding up the remaining movies. “Hell, tomorrow’s my day off, if you pull an all nighter, then the next babysitter gets one too.” She grinned at him and he stretched. Good God, did they not make clothes loose enough to hide ALL of him? Man must be hard as stone, she thought.

“It’s not that,” he checked his watch and a dawning suspicion fell on her. “It’s just-”

“How often?” She asked, trying to not get pissed at him, since she knew exactly who was to blame for this. Clay, that freaking control freak.

“How often?” He repeated, raising his voice slightly and trying to look completely ignorant.

Rolling her eyes, Morgan started collecting the garbage from their night. He followed her, helping with cleanup. “You can cut the act, Jen. How often do you have to debrief on our visits?” She tossed the plates in the sink and leaned against the counter to watch him get rid of the garbage. She waited, she was good at that, waiting for the target to give her the information she wanted.

He sighed, and mimicked her posture against the kitchen island. “He usually wants one before the end of the day, unless we get overnights.” Jensen looked uncomfortable, and she knew it wasn’t his idea. “It’s nothing too invasive, that we share, I mean.”

Raising her eyebrow, she smiled at him. He was so sweet and awkward at times, but lately, since he’d rescued her that was almost gone. She gave him a nod of understanding, and walked him to the door. “Are we finishing movie night tomorrow?” She asked, thinking that at least they could enjoy her guard duty.

“If you still want to,” he sounded uncertain, and she felt bad about the slight interrogation.

“Of course I do, Jen.” She stepped forward and hugged him to her. How could all those muscles still feel so damn soft? She pulled her head back to look up at him and smiled. “Tell you what, Jensen, let’s give Clay something different during your report.” And before he could blink, she pulled his head to hers and kissed him. Not only to fuck with Clay, not even close. Because when their lips met, she felt something. It wasn’t all consuming, it was sweet and pure.

He pulled back and had the softest look on his face. And then it fell. “Was that only because you’re pissed at him?” He asked, his eyes trying to decide if he was hurt or elated.

“No,” she whispered, cupping his cheek. “That was just because you’re you, Jake Jensen.”


	8. Chapter 8

Morgan was in the kitchen, making some breakfast, when she heard the first knock of the day. She walked to the door, still in her nightshirt, with a glass of orange juice in one hand and a frown on her face. The clock read nine in the morning, which meant that her day guard was late. When she opened the door, her frown went full on glare.

“Clay.” She greeted, less than pleasantly. Morgan stood leaning against the doorframe, drinking her juice waiting for an explanation.

Clay stood awkwardly on her front porch, waiting to be let inside. When he noticed an invitation wasn’t forthcoming, he had to ask for one. “Can I come in?”

“I’m sure you have the ability to cross any threshold you’d want to, but if you’re asking if you may come in, the answer is,” she stopped to take a refreshing sip of her juice and faked thinking about it. “No.” She shook her head then tilted it waiting.

“Damn it, Morgan,” his voice was a cross between a plea and a growl. “I really don’t want to have this conversation in the open.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Why not? It’s not like you’re going to actually share anything I’ve never heard before, or that’s sensitive.” She shrugged. “I’m pretty sure that Mrs. Lange doesn’t give a shit about my visitors, nor what they talk to me about, although she has been eyeing Cougar a bit lately.” She shrugged again. “Then again, most women with a pulse seem to eye him.” She stopped and looked up at him, waiting once more.

He gave a long suffering sigh. Dear God, why did she tie him into fucking knots? And the fact that Jensen had been so tense during his fucking debriefing last night, forcing his hand really to check a few discrete survelience cameras that he’d had installed. For Morgan’s safety. Not to stalk her. Just to make sure that none of Max’s goons came for round two, or if Aisha decided to take a note out of Max’s book. Yeah, he didn’t believe his own bullshit either.

He checked the cameras, watched as one caught a kiss between Jensen and Morgan. And that made him realize that staying away wasn’t going to work. Not if it meant she was ready to truly move on. Not with Jensen. The boy was a good guy, but Morgan was far too much for him. Hell, he sometimes wondered if she was too much for himself.

“Fine,” Clay groaned, scrubbing down his face with one hand. “I wanted to tell you that the intel we’re getting is that Max is in a holding pattern. He hasn’t, as far as my contacts tell me, regrouped enough to make another play, yet.” He cleared his throat, “I- we can relax the guarding, if you want?”

Morgan snorted, undignified, but warranted. “If I want? That’s rich, of course that’s what I want.” She was still leaning against the doorframe, with her head tilted so she could study him. “Pooch should be able to touch base with Jolene. Cougar and Roque should be able to do whatever they want with their time. And Jensen-” She watched Clay flinch at the mention of his name, but kept going. “Jensen should be allowed to go watch his niece play soccer.” She sighed, and glared up at him. “You should be able to do whatever it is you do when you’re not ordering everyone around.” Morgan turned, planning on going back inside and starting to clean her house, in case Jensen planned on returning for movie night round two. “Bye, Clay.”

She hadn’t gone two steps inside when she felt the heat of his body against her back. “What do I do when I’m not ordering the team around?” His whisper blew hot over her hair. “What I should be doing instead is trying to make us right, Morgan.”

The door was shut behind him and she turned to glare up at him. Remind him that he wasn’t invited inside, but the look he was giving her made her stop. His eyes held more pain than she’d ever seen on Clay. And she’d removed bullets and reset his bones before, without anesthesia. She licked her lips and waited. Waited for him to go on, for him to tell her just how he’d planned on fixing the fuck up that was their pseudo relationship.

What she wasn’t expecting was his ungloved hand to touch her cheek with a tenderness she’d never seen from him. She didn’t expect to see that the pain in his eyes was tempered by a look she couldn't decipher. Clay was looking at her with, was that adoration? What the literal hell?

“Clay?” Morgan’s voice stopped him, made him wonder what to say. How to say it?

“It was always you, Morgan. Always.” He leaned in to kiss her, but an undignified snort stopped him.

“Always me?” She couldn’t stop the snort that came out of her, it startled him, but so had his words. “Was it always me when the chick SHOT you when we were walking out of a diner with dinner for the team?” She remembered the scene as though it happened the day before. The angry woman, screeching God knew what, then the gun, the flash, and the blood as Clay leaned against her. “Was it always me when the another psycho put a fucking bomb on the car you were picking me up in?” Again, like yesterday, the fear that Roque wouldn’t be able to disarm it, that her last moments would be because of a crazy bitch that wanted Clay so much she’d kill him before someone else could. “And wasn’t the whole insane reason for this elaborate guard situation because another woman you fucked put me in danger?” She laughed without a trace of humor. “By always me, I am going to assume I’ll always be your patsy.”

“Damn it, Morgan.” He growled, pulling his hand back to rub down his heavily scruffy face. “Those times weren’t-”

“Weren’t what? Weren’t your fault?” Morgan looked at him like he was crazy. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t those women at least ASSUME that you were interested, if not actually already fucking?” He looked at his shoes. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Call me crazy, Clay, but if I were the always in your life, then I’d imagine that I’d have known it by now. I mean you’re pretty fucking open with what you want.” Sighing, she moved to the kitchen, figuring he’d get the hint and go, but she expected far too much of him. “Oh, so this is going to be a LONG visit. Great, watch me clean the fucking house.”

“Morgan,” he was pleading with her, but he knew that she had some decent points. Why had he fucked around with those other women? And why didn’t he realize that she was always with him when it went to shit in a flash? Fuck. “Look, I’ve fucked up extensively. I know it, you know it, but let me make it up to you.”

Morgan had been getting her cleaning products out from under the sink, but she heard him. She heard and nearly clipped her own fucking head on the cabinet. “Make it up to me?” She considered the possible ways he had in mind. Sex, no doubt. “I think you’ve had plenty of tries at that, Clay. What could you possibly try this time that would make me believe it?”

He looked at her in worry. How had he tried to fix it before? Sex, she thought he’d just go straight for the bedroom. Which, if he were being honest, was one of the first ways he thought of trying. But no, he’d try something else. “We could try actually dating for once.” He offered, thinking about how amazing it might be to just go out with her. “If you want to, that is?”

She blinked at him. A date? He wanted to go on a date with her. She was working it through her mind, trying to make sense of it. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Morgan had to ask, because last she checked, yep he was officially dead.

He chuckled, dimples in full bloom. “Well, if you want to be technical, yes. However, I think I can manage to find a way to take my girl out on the town.”

“Don’t rush the ‘my girl’ bullshit, Clay.” She rolled her eyes. “Sure, a date. Why not?” Picking up her supplies she headed to the bathroom. “Just not tonight, I have plans.” With that she walked away, and he was left wondering if he’d have to kill Jensen to get him out of the way. But then he’d have to find a new hacker. Fuck the hassles.


	9. Chapter 9

Morgan cleaned her house, in complete silence that followed Clay out the door. She reveled in the knowledge that her former team could finally pretend that they had normal lives, now that they weren’t at Clay’s beck and call to guard her. She considered the movie night that she had planned with Jensen, and wondered if he’d prefer more take out or if she should make something from scratch. 

It had been ages since she had the opportunity and inclination to cook, so she chose the latter. Making a grocery list for one of her signature dinners, she grabbed her keys and made a run to the grocery store. Another stop, once she’d selected all the ingredients she needed, plus the standards she was running low of, at the liquor store attached to her market, and she was ready to head home. She thought, during her errands that she’d felt the tingle of a lingering stare, but she brushed it off. She was freed from constant guard, there was no way she’d be forced to admit it might have been too soon.

Morgan turned on the CD player in the kitchen and danced around as she put their dinner together. The feeling of being watched had gone away once she was inside her house, so she thought that perhaps it was simply the newness of being home and on her own that had gotten her to feel it in the first place. Placing the dish into the oven and setting the timer, she prepped the bread for when its turn would come inside, and turned down the noodles that she’d started on top of the stove. 

Cleaning the mess she’d made, she headed to her bedroom to change into a more comfortable set of movie watching clothes. When she came back to the kitchen, the entire house was smelling amazing. Garlic, tomatoes, and melted cheese would have been overwhelming, but it was tempered by the salty smell of the noodles still bubbling on the stove top, and the yeasty smell of the bread that still waited on the counter. She checked the timer, and moved to the refrigerator to grab the bottle of wine, opening it to let it breathe, she smiled as the timer dinged for the bread to be added to the warmth. 

She had just closed the oven door when she heard the doorbell chime. Right on time, she thought, moving to the door and checking the peep hole to make sure. After that feeling earlier, she had to admit to herself that precautions were still a good idea. Jensen, looking so adorably cute stood right in the light of the porch lamp. Opening the door, her smile grew when he handed her a bunch of wildflowers, clearly he hand picked them. 

“Aren’t you just the absolute sweetest,” Morgan’s voice was hushed, her hand reaching for his, and the flowers. “They’re beautiful, Jen.” They smelled amazing, and she could see why, he’d added honeysuckle to the mix, her favorite. 

His smile was something that she felt she must have taken for granted for such a long time. “You said you hated store bought flowers,” Morgan struggled to remember the conversation. “During one of your undercover ops, and that you’d be happier with a beer bottle full of honeysuckle than all the roses on the planet.” Jesus, he remembered that? She felt her own smile grow. “What smells so fucking amazing?” They were in the kitchen, and she chuckled. 

“That would be mozzarella stuffed chicken Parmesan, with warmed garlic bread, and pasta. If you want a salad, I have stuff for one, but honestly, I’d rather just cut to the main course.” She was grinning, her own stomach feeling very appreciative of the mere thought of her favorite meal. “Oh, and wine. If you want some, that is.” She suddenly felt very uncertain. Using the flowers as an excuse to turn away, she grabbed a pretty glass and filled it with water. Placing the clutch inside, she moved to the table that she’d set earlier and put them in the center. 

She felt Jensen come up behind her, not saying anything, but clearly feeling the anxiety flowing from her. An anxiety that he felt too. When his hands touched her arms, sliding down to take her hands in his, she felt a peace flow over them both. Jensen wouldn’t hurt her. He was Jensen, after all. Turning to face him, she smiled up at his worried face, and before either of them could think about it, she pulled his head to hers for a kiss. His lips were soft, so soft that her heart clenched. His hands slid around her waist and pulled her tight against him and she felt his heart beating as hard and fast as hers. God, was this what it felt like? Starting at the beginning with no anguish, no angst to hold you back? 

The timer beeping pulled them away from one another. Morgan started for the kitchen, prepared to carry in dinner on her own, but Jensen followed. Helping her by putting the bread in its basket, carrying the now drained and ready pasta in its own dish, and coming back for the wine. Once dinner was on the table, they served themselves and fell into the easy conversation that came from knowing one another for a long time, but without the tense friction that came from knowing one another too much. 

Dinner was finished faster than she thought possible, even for two people who spent their lives in the military. The wine bottle was significantly lower, but it didn’t keep them from cleaning up the mess before retiring for movie night part deux. Settling back on the couch that they’d sat on the night before, the space between them was negligent. Feeling one another so close wasn’t odd or awkward, not now. Putting on the next in their Disney Princess movie binge, Morgan found that her head was attracted to his chest, and Jensen found that his arm was magnetized to curl around her back and hold her to him. 

They watched each movie, their bodies growing closer and closer, until finally the movies were forgotten. Morgan was straddling him, their faces inches apart, fully prepared to take the next step, when the doorbell chimed. A part of both of them wanted to ignore it. Wanted to pretend that they heard no sound at all, except for the sound of their own breathing, and the silent pull to kiss and touch. Unfortunately, training dies hard. 

Swallowing the want and need she felt, Morgan stood, moving slightly away from Jensen, but he followed her up. Backup, forever. Together they walked to the door. Looking at the clock before she touched the doorknob, Morgan found herself wondering who the fuck would be visiting at this hour. A peek through the peephole and she felt herself tense. Of fucking course.


	10. Chapter 10

Morgan jerked open her front door, feeling the heat from Jensen’s body close at her back. As she glared up at the man standing on her doorstep, looking for all the world like he was expected, or innocent of any type of cock blocking nefarious motives, she fought the urge to slap the shit out of him. 

“Clay,” she ground out, feeling her temper raise higher as he smiled down at her. “I wish I could say I'm surprised to see it's you."

If Clay was the type of man who shrugged, he would have. Instead, his smile deepened and his dimples were so very evident through the scruff on his face. “Thought I’d stop by and let you know that I made the arrangements for our DATE tomorrow, Morgan.” He emphasized the word, and shot a look at poor Jensen. 

She looked up at him with her glare in full bloom. How did he know? He knew that she planned on having an evening in with Jensen, but the doorbell came JUST when they were about to get closer. “Where is it?” She barely opened her mouth, feeling like the urge to bite him would pass faster if she didn’t bare her teeth. 

“Where’s what?” A question for her question. 

Jensen was watching the two of them like a tennis match, wondering what the hell was going on. He ran a hand through his hair, drawing Clay’s attention to him. Shit.

“Jensen.” Clay offered a dark glint in his eye. “Having a good night?”

Morgan could feel Jensen tense, and could hear him gulp. Damn it. “Don’t you dare,” she was staring at Clay, she knew what he was about to do, and she was going to fucking smack him for it. 

“What?” He asked, barely offering her a glance. “Just reminding Jensen that he’s got something to do tomorrow that a good night’s sleep would probably make more bearable.” He wasn’t ordering him, not really, it was more of a suggestion with a hint of warning. 

Morgan sighed when she felt Jensen nod. He nodded with his entire body it seemed. Great. Wonderful. Damn it. “Dinner was great, Mo.” Jensen offered, sliding past her to get out the door. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow,” she couldn’t help but see him look at Clay as if to ask if it would be alright. A small nod from his commander and then he was jogging down the steps and swallowed by the night. 

Clay’s smile hadn’t faltered, which made Morgan all the more pissed. “Are you fucking serious?” She asked, still standing in the open doorway. “Where is it, Clay?”

He’d refocused on her, and he raised his eyebrows in what would appear to someone who didn’t know him as a sign of his utter innocence. “Where’s what?” Again, with the question for a question. 

She turned, knowing he’d follow her inside. She stalked to the living room. Standing in the doorway, she took in the position of the sofa where she’d been with Jensen, and then looked around for the most logical place he’d have put it. The camera that HAD to be hidden in the room, how else could he have known EXACTLY when to interrupt? 

One possibility was the entertainment center. It was straight across from the couch, and would make the best option for a full view of whatever would happen on the sofa. Another was the bar in the corner. Not a straight shot, but it would offer the watcher a view of when things might be getting steamy. 

As she stood taking in the room that she’d taken for granted, she heard Clay lock her front door and approach her from behind. What in this damn room looked out of place? He wouldn’t have had enough time to replace her electronics, or embed it within something she owned, so he had to have added it like a nanny cam teddy bear. And that’s when her eyes landed on it. It was almost so benign and perfect that in other circumstances she might have congratulated him on his genius. Maybe if it was a target they both shared as opposed to being used on HER. 

Morgan walked quietly to the window sill, where her eyes had merely flickered past in her assessment of the room first pass. The curtain was clipped back with a tiny lily catch, a catch that looked a hell of a lot like her tattoo, but was most certainly NOT something she’d purchased. Grabbing it between her thumb and forefinger, she unclasped it. When she turned, she realized he’d made himself at home, sitting on the very sofa he’d clearly been watching her on before. 

“Really?” She asked, eyebrow raised, clasp in her hand. “When did you put this here?” As far as she could remember, he hadn’t been in the living room. Not even this morning. 

Clay was leaning back against the couch, but his eyes met hers. “Who said I did?” 

Shit. Those fucking assholes. Morgan sighed. Following his orders, she reminded herself. They were just following orders. “How long?” She was surprised at how calm she sounded, resigned even. 

“Since you put up the curtains.” He answered, deciding to give her what she clearly wanted. The truth. 

Morgan nodded, and slumped on the couch. There was a full seat empty between them, but she was processing. “How often do you-” She was trying to decide the word. Watch it? Check the footage? Are you a stalker creeper who keeps hoping I’ll masturbate in my living room so you can get off?

“It’s not something I do regularly.” Clay’s voice broke into her internal debate. “I just-” she heard him sigh and groan. “You tie me in fucking knots, Morgan.” 

Morgan looked over at him. “I tied YOU in knots?” She was disbelieving of that. Sure they had chemistry. She could recall every single moment that she’d given in to the pull of him, but it had always ended in her screaming or stomping away. She fought against recalling that she left him a note on her pillow after their first night had prompted it all. Holding on to her anger at him was the only way to keep the rest at bay. “It’s not like you haven’t put me through my paces, Clay.” 

His chuckle vibrated the couch. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?” Are we? She wondered. Could they be a pair? 

“You just scared Jensen off,” she whispered, studying his profile. “Right when I was starting to feel-” Morgan didn’t finish. Clay’s face turned and she could see how the THOUGHT of her feeling ANYTHING with Jensen made him feel. Shit. She swallowed and waited. 

“That’s the point, Morgan.” And he moved, cupping her cheek and pressing his lips to hers. He shocked her by not consuming her, instead he took his time. The kiss was slow, simple, and incredibly sweet. And it scared her. Because this wasn’t Clay and her. Was it? 

Before she could think about it, before she could let her mind take over again, he tilted her head and then his tongue flicked inside her parted lips. And there it was, the feeling she remembered best. Her hands slid around his neck, and up the back of his head, holding him to her. His hands roamed down her sides, gripping at her waist and then he was pulling her over top of his lap and she straddled him. He pulled his lips from hers only to start a slow tour down her neck, tongue flicking against her pulse, teeth nipping against her skin. 

“Clay,” she breathed, rocking herself against him, feeling how hard he was for her. “Please.” She didn’t know what she was pleading for, not really, only that she needed more. 

“Morgan,” he growled against her skin and then she was lifted into his arms and he was walking through the house to her bedroom. 

In the room, lit only by the street lights streaming through her lace curtains, he set her down in front of him. Eyes locked on hers, he slowly removed every stitch of her clothes, never breaking eye contact even as he knelt before her. And then his tongue flicked out and he worshiped her. Flicking between her damp lips, touching and kissing her as slowly as he had her mouth on the sofa. 

Morgan’s hands slid through his hair, her knees shaking as he took special attention to every part of her that he knew more intimately than anyone else. She was panting, his hands were locked on her knees, making sure she didn’t fall, but she couldn’t take it. His mouth, his tongue, driving her insane. Her fingers clutched his hair and pulled, pulled him away from her, from the delicious torture he was giving her. His eyes had been on hers the entire time, and he let her yank him up, that smile still in place and then their lips met again. 

Morgan could taste herself on his tongue, but her focus was removing his clothes now. The suit jacket dropped off easily. Then she unhooked his gun harness, tossing it on top of the jacket. Then unbuttoning his white button down, eyes locked on his, going back for kisses as she worked. Then she let her eyes leave his, as she traveled a similar route to the one he had taken down her neck. She felt him swallow hard as her teeth grazed his skin. 

Her hands worked his belt free, while feasting on his shoulder. And then, as his pants dropped at his feet, her hands met the waist of his boxers and she pulled away so their eyes could meet again. He watched her as she lowered herself along with his shorts down to the floor. And then, shoes, boxers, pants all yanked free and Clay was completely bare before her. 

Morgan’s hands slid up the back of his legs as she bit her lip at the feel of his skin. Jesus, how long had it been since they’d been completely naked together? Every single time had been squandered, but she’d be damned if this time was. He could say whatever he wanted to, taunt her with her running away, tease her with his ability to cock block Jensen, it didn’t matter. She would have him. Tonight.

Her mouth opened and then he was inside and she felt his hands sliding through her hair. Their eyes were still on one another’s and she had never felt so raw at watching him watch her. As she lavished the same worship on him that he’d tortured her with, she watched as his eyes darkened, as he bit his lip, and when he finally couldn’t take it any longer, pulling her up his length to claim her mouth again. 

And then they were on the bed. He was inside of her, and they couldn’t take their eyes off one another. It was slow. It was far more intimate than they’d ever tried, and she realized, that was the point. This wasn’t them before. This wasn’t Captain Morgan Dean and Lieutenant Colonel Franklin Clay. This was Morgan and Clay. This was what he’d wanted her to see the entire damn time. And it was exactly what she’d fought against when he was her commanding officer. But he wasn’t anymore. She wasn’t a Loser. And this was RIGHT. 

She arched up into his body, and he moaned. Her legs locked around his waist, tilting her pelvis a bit differently and then there it was, the feeling. The fire, the need. And while he’d been slow before, showing her what they should be, this gave him the opening to show her what they ALWAYS had been. The pace grew, the urge to keep going, the meet the peek together kept mounting. And then, as they felt it flush through them, his mouth met hers and they swallowed the screams that came from feeling it. Together. For once, they both felt it. 

And then, as hard as it had crashed over them, it was over. But they didn’t move. They didn’t pull apart. And when Clay’s eyes met Morgan’s, he knew, the taunts were over. The fear that she’d run away again was gone. Because he could see that she’d felt it too.


	11. Chapter 11

Morgan woke up wrapped in Clay’s arms. His head was tucked into her shoulder. His legs tangled with hers. And she had no urge to run. No feeling of constriction, or fear creeped along her skin. No feelings of wrongness, of losing her place by losing her heart to him. She wasn’t that person anymore. She’d given it up when she left the last time. She’d been forced out further by the torture that Max had insisted Wade inflict upon her body. She wasn’t a Loser, and she wasn’t Captain Dean any longer, not really. 

She felt Clay waking up and smiled. The warmth of his naked body pressed tight against her, the feeling of his hands running down her body, and that moan that came from deep down, almost a purr, Christ she could get used to this. Her eyes met his and her heart stopped. The sun lighting his eyes such a light honey color made her fully understand the reason women were fucking entranced by him. Well, aside from the more obvious reasons. 

“Morning, sweetheart.” His lips met hers and she felt his own smile curve around their kiss. “So that wasn’t a fucking dream?” His voice was rough from sleep, but it wasn’t mocking, or taunting. 

Biting her lip, Morgan cupped his face between her hands. “If it was, let’s not wake up, what do you say?” 

And then she pushed him onto his back and straddled his body. Her lips claimed his and his hands fell to her hips. A few moves and they were joined again, and that feeling rose, the one that they’d both felt the night before. Completion. Rightness. And shit, was that LOVE?!

Morgan rose up, Clay’s hands moved up as well, running up her sides until he was cupping her breasts in his hands. And when she rocked her hips, his eyes were forced closed at the feeling. Jesus, this, her and him, they hadn’t touched half of what they could have. As she tortured him, rocking and rolling, letting him feel how very hot and wet she was for him, his eyes opened and he saw that hers were locked on his face. She was watching his expressions, how he bit his lip when she arched just a bit. How his mouth went slack when her hips rocked just a little harder. 

“Jesus, Morgan,” it was a moan and a plea, and she smiled down at him. And then he rolled, and she was under him. 

His hand lowered, hooking her knee and lifting it to wrap around his hip. And that did it. As he thrust into her, it was her turn to close her eyes. The feeling he built was nearly overwhelming. Her hands slid up his arms, touching him as she forced her eyes open, and realized he was watching her as intently as she had him. Her hands found his neck and she was pulling him down, needing his mouth, needing to taste him. Their mouths locked together as they rode the waves of what they’d tempted one another with. 

When it was over, they were still locked together, because now that they’d seemingly made peace with one another and what they were to one another, parting would take more effort than leaving ever had before. Clay was cradled between Morgan’s thighs, his head on her chest, listening as her heart slowed. He’d kill anyone who came between them again. Anyone. 

Morgan’s fingers were sliding through his hair, and she was smiling. They’d fought it for so damn long. OK. She’d fought it for so damn long that this was entirely unexpected. Almost too peaceful after their entire relationship. Or lack thereof. 

“I can hear the gears grinding in your head from here, Morgan.” His voice rumbled through her chest and she giggled. 

“I was just thinking,” Clay propped his chin up on her chest to look up at her. “Why did I fight so hard against us?” Her voice was quiet, but her eyes were clear, drinking him in. Her fingers were still playing in his hair. 

Clay smiled, and dropped his face down and kissed between her breasts. “I think I finally get it.” His voice was muffled. “You worked damn hard, Morgan. So damn hard to get where you were, and us-” He glanced up and smiled at her. “It could have fucked it up.” He was trying to let her know that he finally understood. “It sucked, fuck did it suck to know that you’d pick your career over me, over us.” He shook his head. “I had to ask myself, recently, what I would have done if our places were reversed.” 

Morgan’s hands had gone back to touching his face. “And what did you realize, Clay?” 

“I would have fought it too.” He answered, looking back up at her. “And I didn’t have to fight and work nearly as hard as you did, Morgan.” He slid up her body so they were face to face. “I won’t do it again,” he promised, brushing her lips with his. “I won’t throw it up, I won’t fuck this up. I fucking swear.” 

Morgan tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth down for a better kiss. That he understood was important, but that she trusted what he said was more so. 

They eventually untangled and left Morgan’s bedroom. Hunger happens to everyone. Clay watched as she danced around the kitchen in his button down, reheating something that smelled fucking amazing. 

“What are you fixing?” He finally asked, seated at the island. 

Morgan turned with a grin. “Leftovers,” she laughed and went back to her task. 

“Yeah, smartass, I kind of figure that out from the use of the microwave.” He left his stool to creep up behind her and wrap his arms around her from behind. His head lowered to her neck and he brushed his lips against her skin. 

She stopped moving and let herself relax into his touch. Closing her eyes to the press of his shirtless chest burning through the fabric of his shirt, and the feeling of his pants against her bare legs. “I made mozzarella stuffed chicken parm last night,” she could feel him still behind her. Right, for Jensen. “Are you gonna freak out anytime Jensen is near me, Clay?” 

He groaned. “No,” it came out as a growl. “Sorry, no, Morgan. It’s fine, just a little fresh.” She giggled and turned. He’d risen to his full height as she turned, but she shook her head and hooked his neck with her hands, pulling him back down to level with her own. 

“You, Franklin Clay, are the ONLY man I’ve had inside of me for a very long time.” Morgan was smiling at the look on his face at this revelation. “No need for any jealousy.” Her lips were about to meet his when she noticed the tightness in his eyes. Shit.

“I almost forgot.” He began and Morgan’s eyes closed. Her. Of course. He swallowed so hard she could hear him. “Morgan. Look at me.” 

She forced her eyes open and stared into his. “I know that you and-” His finger touched her lips to stop her. 

“Yeah, we did, but not for the reasons you think.” She waited, and he sighed. The microwave dinged and she pulled away. Clay’s arms felt empty, and he was scared. “Morgan.”

“Just let me grab our plates, Clay,” she answered, not turning around. “We’ll sit at the table and discuss it.” Her tone hadn’t changed. She didn’t sound hurt or pissed, yet. 

They went to her dining room. Jensen’s flowers were still in the middle of the table, but neither one mentioned them. They sat across from one another, and Morgan waited. 

“I did sleep with Aisha.” Morgan nodded, Roque had told her as much. “It happened after Roque brought my flag back.” She put her fork down, and waited. “You’d seen we were alive. You saw ME. And you didn’t approach. You didn’t make contact, Morgan.” She could hear the hurt in his voice. “It was petty, and shitty, and caused FAR more fucking issues than we needed.” She sat back, her arms crossed over her chest, his shirt mocking him. “I had sex with Aisha because I was pissed at you.” 

Morgan squinted at him. “That would work for the first time.” She was watching his face. Watching it dawn on him that Roque or someone had told ALL. “What about when Jens got shot?” 

Clay swallowed so hard she could see the bob of his Adam’s apple. “That time?” Another nod from Morgan. “That was pure fucking stupidity.” 

Morgan rolled her eyes and laughed. “That about sums up most of your taste in women, Clay.” She took her fork back in hand, and twirled her pasta. He was staring at her, waiting for the fallout clearly. “What?” She asked, taking a bite. 

He squinted at her face. She looked strangely at peace. Weirdly easy with his confession. Why? “You’re just going to eat?” 

She chewed and swallowed her bite. “You should too, it’s better when it’s warm.” She gestured at his own plate. 

Clay was confused and a little scared. “Why are you being so calm?” He picked up his own fork and cut a bite. 

Morgan laughed, and shook her head. “If I get pissed off about every woman you’ve screwed, or enticed into thinking you’re going to screw them, then I’m going to spend this entire relationship needing anger management, Clay.” She kept eating. 

“You’re telling me that Captain Morgan Dean is going to go bygones about this?” He asked, taking a bite. 

She smiled. “Absolutely, Clay.” Her eyes twinkled and he nearly choked at her next words. “Because if she makes a move toward me, our team, or God fucking forbid you? I’ll kill her and make sure her body’s never fucking found.”


	12. Chapter 12

Clay helped Morgan clean up after lunch. OK, he mostly pressed himself against her back as she TRIED to clean up after lunch. Loading the dishwasher, with him rocking into her from behind was tempting, but did not fucking make it easy to NOT cut her fingers off on broken dishes. 

“Clay,” Morgan was fighting with keeping her tone clear of her own fucking need. “Let me-” Another roll of his hips and she called it a wash. “Fine,” and turning she met his waiting lips. “Fuck the dishes,” she mumbled against his lips.

“Not what I’m planning on fucking, Morgan,” his lips curled into a smile as he lifted her onto the island in the middle of her kitchen. His fingers worked quickly to unbutton his shirt and part it, clearing a path for his mouth to trace down her body. Morgan’s head fell back and her hands slid through his hair, biting her lip as his tongue flicked against her ribcage. “I don’t hear you complaining now, sweetheart.” Clay’s breath played against the dampness he’d created on her skin. As his mouth relearned every curve of her upper body, his hands were sliding up her legs, to her very bare hips. “Did you forget something?” 

Morgan’s fingernails dug into Clay’s scalp. “I’m a soldier, Clay, I NEVER forget anything.” As his tongue flicked against her bellybutton she gasped. “Every single thing I do is-” hips arching off the island as his fingertips teased her inner thighs, “precisely calculated for-” A moan as his thumb met her dampness. “Maximum impact.” 

Clay’s chuckle vibrated against her as his mouth met his thumb and he picked up where they left off when forced from bed for mundane issues like food.

Hours later, duty called Clay away from Morgan and her house. Alone and pleasantly exhausted, she realized that her life was forever changed. Not just because she was technically a civilian now, but because she had just opened herself up for a commitment to Clay. Franklin Clay, a man who had atrocious taste in women. Until now, she thought smugly. 

Since her guard detail was over, Morgan found herself at the mercy of her own boredom. She hadn’t noticed how having the guys in and out had given her something to do when she wasn’t at the hospital. Instead of focusing on the loneliness threatening to overwhelm her, she tried to pick something to do that had been impossible with her former team underfoot. 

A long hot bath sounded pretty fucking amazing. Then again, so did sitting down with a good book and being lazy. Or, oh dear fucking God, binge watching something ridiculous on Netflix. Something girly and obnoxious.

Instead, feeling the glorious ache in her muscles and the feeling of absolute fatigue that comes from repeated satisfying sex, she chose a nap.

The doorbell woke Morgan and like every other normal human on the planet that wasn’t under attack on a daily basis, she had a moment of uncertainty about where she was and what time it could be. Shaking off her sleep, she remembered lying down for her nap, and a glance at the window told her it was late afternoon heading toward evening. 

“Damn it, Clay,” she was smiling as she considered that he’d come rushing back as soon as possible. She could definitely get used to this. She opened the door without a glance through the peephole, a complete contradiction to every fiber of who she was, but she was certain who had rung the bell. She didn’t even get a chance to register who stood on the threshold because the darkness was almost immediate. 

Clay arrived at Morgan’s house as full dark had taken over. He was whistling as he walked up the walkway, and it cut off as quickly as his good mood evaporated. The door was wide open and he knew, as clearly as he knew his own fucking name that there was no way she’d leave it open. His heart pounding like it was going to leave his damn body and rush ahead, he entered the house with his gun in his hand. Muscle memory took over as he cleared each room, and his heart never once stopped rushing and beating fast and furious. 

No sign of her at all. Nothing seemed out of place, but he’d only been inside the house twice, so he’d need the team to sweep it for any signs of disturbance other than Morgan’s absence. If asked later, Clay would struggle to remember calling them. He’d try to recall what he’d done from the moment he saw the door wide open like a screaming mouth, but nothing would come to him. Nothing would come to him because all he’d ever remember was the taste of fear and the cold knowledge that Morgan was gone. Again. And he knew it was because of him. Again. 

Morgan woke up again, this time with the taste of iron in her mouth and rolled her eyes. For fuck’s sake, this shit again? Testing her arms, she shook her head. Zip cuffs? Check. Ankles? Yep, bound to the hardass, metal chair. Did this fucker buy these cheap ass chairs in bulk? Or is it MY chair? Opening her eyes, she was greeted by the same dimness from her earlier captivity and fought rolling her eyes again. Seriously? Again? Max needed a new decorator. Or just a whole fucking new schtick. 

She was a bit taken aback when the voice she heard wasn’t metrosexual male. And even more so when the owner of this voice came into the tiny bit of light afforded to her torture chamber and she recognized its owner. 

“Well, hello, Aisha.” Morgan’s voice sounded as unconcerned as she truly felt. A jealous former lover/compatriot of Clay’s was nothing new. Even if she was at her mercy. “Guess we had to meet eventually, I’d expected less of an S&M theme, but Clay does have pretty fucking diverse tastes, doesn’t he?” 

Morgan would struggle, later to recall how she ended up unconscious again. A fist? Hardly. An inanimate object? Possibly. Drugged again? More likely. The point was the conversation was over and she was under again. Dark and nothing.


	13. Chapter 13

The next time Morgan’s eyes opened it was full dark in whatever container Aisha had her housed in. Rolling her shoulders and cracking her neck, she started making a mental list for how to keep this shit from happening again. 

1) Fucking use the peephole, you fucking twat.  
2) Carry a weapon everywhere. Even in your own fucking house apparently. Tucking them in all corners only works if you’re conscious enough to grab one.  
3) Speaking of being conscious, call the biotech and research guy *pretty fucking certain that you wrote the name down in your address book*. See if Mr. Bio can make a cover all antidote for whatever fucking anyone tries to roofie your ass with. Carry it like a weapon, constantly.  
4) Never, ever, ever, ever let someone like this bitch live after knowing she burned down a fucking motel with Clay to get him on her side. Screw that nonsense. Just garrote her ass and toss her in a ditch. One and done.   
5) Send out a fucking anonymous message to any and ALL fucking potential kidnappers with flyers for COMFORTABLE fucking chairs. This metal monstrosity needs to go. 

She was working through her list, listening for ANY sign of life from around her and wondering idly if Aisha was trying to get Clay back in bed.

Clay and the team were gathered around the very island that mere hours earlier he’d spent reminding Morgan of every single reason that they were right for one another. Jensen and Cougar had gone over the house inch by inch and reported nothing out of place. Morgan had opened the door and disappeared. Which made no fucking sense. 

His phone rang and he glanced down, knowing that Morgan’s phone was still plugged into the charger by her bed so it wouldn’t be her number staring back at him. Aisha. He let out a long sigh, but answered. 

“Yeah?” It was gruff and abrupt, but he wasn’t in the damn mood. 

Her soft laughter met his ear and he closed his eyes, wishing like Hell that it was Morgan’s laugh. “That’s a great greeting, Clay.” Opening his eyes, he saw Roque studying him and Pooch trying to not make eye contact at all. Shit. 

“What is it you need, Aisha?” Stilted, and not the least bit covert in the irritation he felt for this interruption. 

“Many things, Clay, many things.” He was pinching the bridge of his nose. Innuendo wasn’t welcome right now. “Max’s location would be great, but you would do in a pinch.” Fuck. Not now.  
“Kind of busy here,” Roque’s arms were crossed over his chest. Jensen was looking sick on his stomach and Cougar was still taking stock of his surroundings. At least there wasn’t judgement on that front. Pooch, on the other hand, was picking up the clip that Morgan had found that they’d planted in her living room. Wait. Had it been on the island the entire time? “Gotta go.” He didn’t wait for her to reply, he ended the call and pointed at the clip. “Was that on the counter?”

Pooch looked up at him and shook his head. “No, we found it in the living room on the coffee table.” Shit. And then his brain fully engaged past the absolute terror of losing her and he nearly smacked his head on the surface in front of him. 

“The fucking camera on the porch.” They all looked up at him and he realized they’d been rendered as useless as him by their worry. “Jensen-”

Jensen was ahead of him, as soon as he’d reminded them of the other surveillance cameras, he’d commandeered Morgan’s desktop in the living room. He was rapidly clicking and typing and as the others joined him, they heard his groan. 

“Whoever it was,” he shifted so they could see the camera feed. “Knew where all the cameras were. They disabled them.” The feed showed a loop of Clay leaving, over and over and over. 

“How long?” Clay felt the fear gnawing at his insides. “How long were they out?” 

“They’re still out.” He went back to clicking and then the cameras came back online. “Now they’re up again, fat fucking luck that is.” He pushed away from the desk and stood up to pace. “This fucking sucks.” 

No one else said anything. What else was there to say?

Morgan was left alone until dawn was creeping over the horizon. She guessed, since it was total darkness, and then a sliver of light appeared. It grew, but not by much. She took stock of that knowledge. Not another shipping container. That thing only offered whatever artificial light that dumbass Max and his little puppet brought in or the natural light when the doors were opened. So a room, but it was barren and completely dark when no light came from outside of it. No windows, meaning an interior room. Or the windows were boarded or painted over perfectly. She doubted that. Much more likely that she was in an interior room. 

She hadn’t noticed anything in the room when Aisha had introduced herself. Nothing other than the hard as shit chair, herself, and her captor. She had to give the younger woman a shred of credit. Aisha had bound her to the chair in a way that finding purchase to fight back or break free wasn’t possible. Fucking witch. 

“You’re awake.” The light came fuller as the door opened in front of Morgan. “Good morning.” 

“Morning, Aisha.” Morgan grinned, fuck her and this situation. “Did you sleep well?” The other woman tilted her head. “Well if you ever need a little something to help you out, may I suggest you take whatever shit you keep drugging me with and shove it straight up your-”

“No wonder they nearly beat you to death.” She shook her head. “That mouth of yours, Captain Dean. You should learn to keep it shut.” 

“Clay loves it when I use my mouth.” Morgan offered. “In fact there’s this thing I do with my tongue that he learned to do in return, didn’t he give you that gift?” The glare she received made her shrug as best she could. “Pity, I thought that anyone who’d burn down a fucking motel would at least utilize his best assets first.” 

The slap was unexpected. Not because Morgan hadn’t expected to be hit, but a SLAP?! What kind of pansy shit was that? “Shut the hell up!” Aisha snapped. “You’re a complication. A distraction. They need to be on their A game to find him.” 

“Max?” Morgan grinned wider. “Oh, that’s terribly sad.” Another glare. “You’re focused on the useless metrosexual, when you should be focused on the fucking hot commander. Damn, no wonder he needs distracting. You’re just as weak as that fucking slap.” Another slap. “Yeah, see, no heat. I expected more from a woman who set FIRE TO A FUCKING MOTEL.” 

Clay was going in circles. He was still at Morgan’s house, but he’d sent the others out to find something. Roque suggested door to door, now that it was full light. Fine. Go. Do. 

His mind was full of the last twenty-four hours. How can you find IT and then lose IT in one fucking day? For God’s sake. Hadn’t he and Morgan paid the toll already? Damn it. 

His phone rang again and he glanced down. Aisha. He let it go to voicemail. He didn’t have time for her bullshit come-on right now. Not while Morgan was who the fuck knew where. 

Pooch came rushing in, out of breath, and looking like he knew the answer to what the meaning of life was, and as he told Clay what the neighbor had mentioned seeing he understood completely the look gracing his face. 

Morgan was still smiling. “It’s almost like your heart isn’t in it, Aisha.” She spit a tiny speck of blood out of her mouth. “Hell by this time in the torture with Wade I’d lost enough blood to feel a tad bit concerned.” She glanced down at herself, still in perfect working order. “You’ve barely split my lip. Afraid of what Clay will do to you when he finds out, or MY team? Cause let me tell you, Aisha, you don’t have to worry about them.” She could see the curiosity in the other woman’s face. “Worry about me, because when I get free, and I WILL get free, the last thing you’ll ever worry about is Max, or Clay, or my team. I promise you that I’m going to end the search, the torment, the vengeance. Because I’m going to fucking kill you. Stone cold dead. And you know it. That’s why I’m still strapped nice and tight to this fucking chair and you’re playing poke the bear.” 

Aisha tried to scoff. Tried to roll her eyes, but Morgan could see the fear lying just beneath both actions. “Maybe I want you alive so I can use you to bargain.” 

“He’s not answering your calls.” She knew she'd heard her leaving the voicemail. Tempting. Teasing. But clearly a message and not an actual conversation. “Kinda difficult to bargain or trade when the second party doesn’t pick up.” Morgan tilted her head and studied her prey. “Come on, Aisha, you know you’re curious about which one of us truly is the baddest bitch in this male dominant, testosterone ridden group. Take off my chains, and let’s play.” I fucking dare you, she thought, because I have every move planned and I promise this to you AND me: You’ll be dead in seconds.


	14. Chapter 14

Clay beat everyone to the van. As soon as Pooch had told him what the neighbor mentioned seeing, he knew that time was of the essence. Morgan was going to fucking kill Aisha. That was what he explained to the others, Roque’s eyes meeting the team’s faces in the rear view as he turned toward the last place he knew Aisha had been staying.

“Shouldn’t you just listen to the voicemails, or call her?” Roque asked, his body shifting hard into the turn that Clay had taken on what felt like two wheels.

Fuck. He tossed his phone to his second and barked out the pass code as he kept driving. Parking was doing nothing and he couldn’t. Not now. Roque put the phone on speaker and they all listened as Aisha flirted. Temptation heavy and wrong sounding. Even for her. Nothing more. Just the urge to contact her. Fuck.

“Hit redial.” It was Jensen’s suggestion. “Clay has to make contact. He has to find out where they are.” Smart, and sounding far calmer than his boss was feeling. “You’re gonna have to pull over, Clay.” The tires squealing as they took another turn added to the argument for stopping. 

Roque hit redial and Clay reluctantly pulled onto the shoulder of the road they were on. She picked up quicker than he expected, but her voice held all the irritation that he imagined anyone holding an irate Morgan would feel. 

“Clay,” she was trying desperately to hold back any biting comment and working hard to recapture the flirty tone from the message. “I was hoping you’d call.”

“Cut the shit, Aisha,” he bit back. Screw it, he still wasn’t in the fucking mood. “Where is she?”

A long sigh. Yeah, Morgan was trying her last nerve. “She’s a distraction, Clay. For ALL of you.” He really fucking hoped she wasn’t trying to convince him that leaving her in Aisha’s care was for the best. “No Captain Dean, more focus on finding and ending Max.” Seriously? 

“I can promise you, Aisha, that if any fucking harm comes to Morgan, Max will be the very last fucking thing I’ll be focused on.” Clay growled. Damn it. “Let her go-” He considered that idea and shook his head. “Let us come pick her up, DON’T release her until we get there.” Morgan would fucking destroy Aisha. And while right now the urge was building in the entire team to let her, Aisha had access to funds and aid that they needed. “Max will be found. He will. But without Morgan, I know I’d prefer to fucking die.” 

The van was hushed, but the air seemed to go out of the entire vehicle when he said that. They all knew that Clay and Morgan felt for one another, but dying without her? Shit. 

“I’ll second it.” Jensen spoke up from behind Clay’s seat. “No Morgan, no fucking team.” 

Roque nodded his head. “She’s our glue, no Captain Dean, I’m out.” 

Pooch and Cougar both voiced their agreement. “Tell us where you’re keeping her, Aisha, NOW.” Clay ordered, and closed his eyes against the thought that Morgan might not be alive. She might have taken the ultimate sacrifice for killing her father. She had to know what Morgan meant to him. That had to be why she really took her. “Leave the building, no harm no foul.”

A quiet laugh. “She’s promised to kill me if she gets free, Clay. That’s hardly an incentive to let her go, or allow her to live.” Fuck. 

“She won’t.” Jensen again. “Morgan will take an order if it’s given. Clay will make sure she follows the order to not harm you.” Clay’s eyes met the younger man’s in the rear view. A shrug from Jensen showed he knew he was lying through his teeth, anything to get Morgan back. 

“Absolutely.” Clay agreed, and Roque’s knowing smile nearly blinded him. “Can’t find and rid the world of Max without you, Aisha. And without getting rid of him, we can’t come out of hiding.” 

Aisha took a few beats. The silence grew heavy before she finally gave her decision.

Morgan had been listening to Aisha’s side of the conversation after she’d stepped outside the door of the room she’d been keeping her in. Hearing the coordinates given, the warning to wait an hour before coming to get her, Morgan expected her to walk away and not look back. No such luck.

“When I looked into your team,” Aisha was saying as she returned to stand in front of Morgan’s still restrained body. “Little was found on you, Captain Morgan.” She was studying the bound woman. “Nothing spectacular. Nothing amazing. You’re a medic. You rose to officer. You kept your head down, your hands clean. You left them. Why?”

Morgan’s chin went up and she glared at the younger woman. “Clay was my superior officer. You ever screwed your supervisor, Aisha?” The other woman said nothing. “Well, let me tell you this, the United States military heavily frowns on anyone doing it. I worked too fucking hard to get to where I was to lose it because I fell in love with him.” It was the first time she admitted it. To anyone, including herself, that she loved Clay. Was IN love with him. “Being ambitious and a woman, in any fucking position, makes shit hard.” She sniffed in irritation. “Clay would have gotten high fived and the title of stud. I would have lost my fucking rank and file.” And instead, I left on my own terms, she thought. I walked away, for one final time. “I haven’t a fucking clue why my intel wasn’t complete, maybe you got shitty intel. I promise you this, Aisha. Once it’s all said and done. Run. Hide. Because they’re right. I’ll take the order. I’ll obey it. But once Max is taken out? You will be too. By me.” 

The smirk that met that declaration made Morgan wonder just what game Aisha was playing. “Which would work, if I’d given them the correct coordinates.” Shit. “Let’s play a new game, Morgan-” she stopped and considered the former officer trussed to the chair in front of her. “May I call you ‘Morgan’?” A glare was her only answer. “Let’s see just how much heat I can make for you, Morgan.” 

A small gesture toward a table that Morgan could make out now that the light was brighter, the door left open and a hallway visible through it, along with the natural light of sunlight through a bank of windows somewhere. On the table, just outside the doorway a cluster of bottles. She was going to set the fucking building on fire. With Morgan inside. A flash of complete fucking terror tore through her body. 

Clay was staring straight ahead, the van still in park. “That was too easy, wasn’t it?” She took the first offer, really, and that just wasn’t his normal experience with anyone in this type of situation. A mere promise to keep Morgan in line? Too fucking simple.

“I thought so,” Jensen’s offer came from behind him. Along with clicking. “Which is why I’m checking the coordinates she gave us against the GPS locator in that cell she called you from.” 

“Isn’t it a burner?” Pooch asked, looking over Jensen’s shoulder. “Thought you couldn’t track those.” 

Jensen snorted. “The GOVERNMENT can’t track them. I am a being apart.” The clicking kept going. And then a groan. “Fuck. She’s further out than that hour she asked for and she definitely isn’t at the spot she gave us.” 

Clay considered the information. On one hand, it would make sense to send them wildly in the wrong direction, diverting them while she either moved Morgan to another location OR and his stomach lurched at the thought, killed her. There was also the idea that this was a bigger sleight of hand. Send them to the real location, knowing they wouldn’t trust it, and then when they got to the bogus one, too late to rescue Morgan. Fuck. 

“We’re gonna need to split up.” It was Roque’s idea. “A couple of us go to the coordinates, the rest to the phone's GPS location.” General agreement. “And fucking hope that Aisha hasn’t learned some tricks from our hacker, and that ONE of the two is where she really is.” 

Morgan was studying the bottles that Aisha was bringing into her little dark room. All flammable, but less a plan and more a last ditch effort.

“Did you not hear what Clay said?” She offered, watching the younger woman opening each bottle and pouring it around the perimeter of the room. “If I die, they won’t help you.” 

“Do you honestly think they’ll keep searching for Max if I let you go?” She scoffed, and opened another bottle. The sloshing of the liquid kept going. “They’re out, no matter what they promise. Added bonus because killing you destroys Clay.”

Morgan felt like she rolled her own eyes so hard she should be able to check out her own ass. “Didn’t you screw Clay?” A curt nod from the other woman. “Was he too drunk to satisfy you? Did he not get you off first? Seriously why are you pissed enough to fucking do this?”

The sound of fluid being distributed around the room stopped and Aisha was standing in front of her again. “Didn’t he tell you?” Her tone was deadly. Quiet, pain filled, and angry. “He MURDERED my father, on Max’s orders.” She was glaring down at Morgan. “He knew this was coming, not through your death, but he knew that I’d collect payment for that-”

“Of course he told me.” Morgan cut in. “Your daddy was a drug trafficker that was holding a child as a shield. Your daddy was willing to let a child die for him. Your daddy deserved what he got.” Morgan wasn’t sure she believed that last bit, but fuck this daddy issue nonsense. “That child was used as a fucking mule for daddy dearest’s drug trade. Spank your inner child, Aisha, and let it the fuck go.” Another eye roll. “You’re gonna make a strike team that was so fucking elite that most officials don’t know they exist so pissed that Max most definitely will take a backseat.” 

Aisha studied her captive. “I’ll be gone.”

“Jensen can hack ANYTHING.” A reminder of why this woman had picked her fucking team in the first place. “Jensen will find you. And I bet Clay, Roque, and Cougar will draw straws to see who gets to take the shot.” Pooch was in the clear, he had a family to prepare for. “And then, once the target is taken down, ‘the target’ being YOU, they’ll go back to work to find Max. He’ll meet the same end as you, Hell, they might even dispose of you together.” Morgan watched her words sinking in. “The point is this, Aisha, which would you prefer to have: the time it takes to find Max without worrying about my promise, or this bullshit spontaneous act of revenge?” 

“How do you know-”

“That you didn’t PLAN this?” Morgan snorted. “You’re using a bunch of mix and match booze, Aisha. That’s an unplanned act. If you’d planned it, you would have jugs of gas.” And a flamethrower, she thought. “Contact them. Give them the real coordinates. Give them the fucking address. But fix it, before you have literally NO HOPE of survival.” They were locked in a staring contest. “Hell, I might even mellow out between now and the time you find and eliminate Max.” The chances are slim and nil, but keep that bullshit hope alive. 

A stalemate fell. And the wait began.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of the frying pan, into the fire...

“Come on, Captain Dean,” Clay was taunting her from across the room. “You know you want to.”

Ugh, had she really ever found him all that attractive? His smile grew, the dimples deepening and she felt a tug of lust build in her stomach. Yes, and she still did, damn it.

“Are you honestly asking me to PROVE my combat skills against YOU?” She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at his smug mug. Morgan was dressed for PT. Since they were a team onto themselves, she could be even more casual than she would be on a base. Yoga pants, sports bra, tank top, and a pair of well worn, but cared for trainers. Her long auburn hair was pulled up into a ponytail.

Physical training was a part of being a soldier. Hell, combat training was a part of it. But this? This was a dare, pure and simple. And they had an audience. His entire team ringed their makeshift gym.

“Yes, Captain, I’m REQUESTING that you show me what you’ve got.” Shit. Haven’t you seen it all already?

Cracking her neck and stretching her muscles in a very brief warm-up, she studied her adversary. Lt. Col. Franklin Clay. Dressed for PT, like his entire team, and looking far too unconcerned about whatever type of attack she could possibly hit him with and in that she knew she would have him flat on his back on the floor within minutes.

Morgan dragged her mind away from the memory. She was pissed. And cold. And walking down an unfamiliar fucking street because Aisha the fucking cowardly kidnapper had given her the barest sliver of escape options. The house was gone or would be soon enough. Fire had ripped through it as though, perhaps, Aisha had planned for her cremation a tad more than Morgan had given her credit for.

Luckily she made it out. But now she was wandering. Sure, she could wait by the fiery remains of the house she was held captive in, but then there would be questions and paperwork. Not to mention ANOTHER trip to the fucking hospital. She worked there, visits beyond her duty as a doctor weren’t welcome to her. She was barefoot, in her sleep shirt and thank fucking god she remembered panties.

Cursing the lack of payphones, the lack of human beings outside late at night, Morgan kept walking toward what appeared to be a more populated area. Fuck her luck, because as she was within spitting distance, she heard a car pull up. And then fucking darkness again. Shit.

Morgan was standing over Clay’s prone body a grin plastered on her face and her arms crossed over her chest. He was holding his ribs, and there might have been a hint of a groan that came from somewhere deep inside of him. Good. Never underestimate a soldier, no matter their gender or size, asshole.

Holding out a hand, she offered to help him back to his feet. It was greeted with a glare, then a sigh, and then his huge hand enveloped hers and she tugged him to his feet. “Now what, Boss?” She asked, almost bouncy from the endorphins from exercise.

“Roque, you’re up.” He gestured to the man he’d introduced as his second in command, and Morgan braced herself for another round.

Another dark room, another hard fucking chair, and more fucking zip ties. Damn it.

“I swear to fuck, would one of you asshats buy a fucking comfortable hostage chair?” Morgan growled as she regained consciousness. “I get that these pieces of shit are cheap, but why start the torture with my goddamn ass?”

That chuckle, even though she’d never heard him laugh in his first attempt at her life, she’d know it anywhere. Max. Damn it.

“Captain Dean.” He came into the dim light. Filtered sunlight she realized, coming from a window out of sight. That was new. “I’d say it’s good to see you, but honestly, I thought you’d be dead before you left Wade’s company.” He sounded disappointed and Morgan felt elated to have made him experience it. “I’m sure we can rectify that situation this time.” Damn it.

“Once again, you went to the drawing board and came back empty handed, Max.” She rolled her eyes, feigning a lack of concern. “I’m not the answer, I never was.”

“You love him. He loves you.” It was singsong, but also evident that he’d been both closer than Clay realized and utilizing better surveillance than anyone had given him credit for. “You’re both a pain in my ass. I think I picked just the right person to start with, Captain.” He took a deep breath and then sighed. “I guess you’re not a Captain any longer, not really, are you?” Fucking prick sounded proud about that.

Morgan didn’t speak. Why bother?

“Silence?” Max sounded a tad shocked, and even more disappointed. Good. “Last time we couldn’t make you stop talking.” He was walking around her chair, and she fought to remain relaxed even when he was out of her sight. While he was behind her, she took in the fact that it appeared they were alone. Odd, Max didn’t do his own dirty work. “Don’t worry, you’ll have a few friends to talk too soon enough.” What? Rolling her eyes, she waited him out, still quiet as a church mouse. “No questions? Pity.” He was in front of her, forcing her to tilt her head back to look up at him. “Pretty soon you’ll be screaming.”

Roque took slightly longer to get down than Clay. He was more gracious when she offered her hand to help him back to his feet, but he was also smirking like he’d gone easy on her. Pooch came next. Then Cougar. And finally Jensen, who was harder to convince to attack. Morgan wasn’t without her own bruises, and her lip was bleeding by the time she’d gone through the group, but she’d done it. She’d proven to them that she was more than just a medic and when push came to shove, she was just as prepared to fight as they were.

Firearms came next. Then blades. And on and on. Morgan earned every single stripe that Clay set her up for, and then some. Which was why, she felt certain that whatever Max had planned, she was more than prepared for.

Clay and Roque were rushing toward the site that Jensen had found by tracking Aisha’s burner phone. Clay’s stomach clenched painfully when he saw the smoke rising in the distance and his foot grew heavier on the gas pedal.

“Slow down,” Roque tried to convince him. “If we draw attention to ourselves-”

“It’s on fucking fire, Roque.” He ground out. “She set it on fire.” The car they’d ‘procured’ for the trip screeched to a stop close enough for him to know that the inferno in front of them was where Morgan had been. Or at least where Aisha had been when she called. Firemen didn’t appear to be in a great hurry to douse it, and a glance around told him why. It was a rundown part of town, mostly deserted, and no neighbors. Fuck.

Roque’s phone chirped and his smile lit up the car. “It’s Mo,” he grinned, and showed Clay the text.

**Borrowed some poor teenager’s cell. Come fucking get me.**

The address that followed was halfway back the way they’d come, so Clay, his chest feeling lighter, put the car in gear and worked his way backward. Hoping that he’d have Morgan in his arms before morning.

“Call the others,” Clay was telling Roque. “Best let Jensen know or he might explode.”

Roque assured him, as he tapped into his phone that he was sending them the address in a text. And as they drove to Morgan, Clay’s mind turned to all the ways he was going to make this shit up to her.

“Captain Dean,” that fucking sing song voice drew Morgan out of her reverie. One day, she promised herself, she’d make him choke on it. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” she glared up at him. “Since the last roofie left my system, I thought I’d take some ‘me time’ and reminisce.”

He drew up a chair, slightly more cushioned than the one she was tied to, and sat in front of her. “Good memories? Happy ones?” He was watching her like she was his new favorite television show. “You and Clay, from the first night you met, right?” How would he know that? “That’s ballsy, and a little slutty.” Morgan was still wondering how he knew, That intel wouldn’t be in her file. And Aisha didn’t have any intel it seemed. What the fuck? “You fought it. And fought it. And fought it. Right up until you ran off and they screwed up in Bolivia alone.” Inside information. A mole.

“You seem pretty well versed in the soap opera that is Franklin Clay and Morgan Dean.” She studied him. “Which one?”

“Pardon?” Max was watching her, trying to see what she worked out on her own, she imagined.

“Which one of my team turned?” The tightening in his eyes told her he hadn’t expected her to figure it out so soon. Didn’t know everything, did he? “Jensen wouldn’t. He’s too faithful and a damn good soldier.” She watched Max as she went through each of her teammates. “Pooch would make sense, baby on the way and all, but that’s too simple and again, he’s fiercely loyal.” Nothing from Max. “Cougar doesn’t speak much to us, so I highly doubt he’d offer shit to you for whatever type of deal you came up with, which leaves-” Fuck. She shook her head and snorted. “Guess that intel I gave Wade wasn’t complete fucking bullshit, was it?”

“He came to me.” Max seemed to want to prove that Roque turned all on his own. “Tired of the status quo from Clay’s leadership. Tired of watching ‘As the Tide Turns’ where it concerned the two of you. Tired of being dead.”

“And tired of being poor.” She added for him. “How much did he sell us out for?” She swallowed past the pain of knowing that someone she would have taken a bullet for would sell her life away. And Clay’s.

“He wanted to have security and serenity in his retirement.” That much, she thought. “Of course, just getting you and then Clay, well that’s only part of what he owes me.” Shit, not the others. “He’s going to have to rectify the mistake in Bolivia.” All of us. Gone. “You’re a tragic victim of a random act of violence. After all, you’ve had such trauma to your body, another would be difficult to overcome.” Fuck you, she thought. “I’ve read that Roque’s weapon of choice is the blade.” He whistled. “Not sure you’ll be pretty after that, Captain.”

Clay and Roque parked outside of the address. Daylight now, the house looked benign and he was thankful that she’d found safety in the night. The other houses seemed vacant, a new development, clearly. As he and Roque started up the walk, he felt the chill of his experience, but then with a pinch darkness overtook him.


	16. Chapter 16

Morgan’s chest tightened uncomfortably when she saw Roque fireman carrying Clay into the room. Fuck. Fear, for Clay, and irritation at the traitor carrying him flared up and made her speechless. Fucking treasonous asshole, her mind screamed, even as her eyes roamed over Clay as Roque secured him to his own piece of shit chair. 

“Morning, Mo.” Roque offered, as though they were meeting in the communal kitchen at their former headquarters. Fucking dickhead. 

Morgan didn’t answer, her eyes were locked on Clay’s face, happy to see he wasn’t beaten or bloody. Yet. He wasn’t moving, but she was pretty sure he’d been hit with the same type of drug they’d used on her. 

“Don’t worry, Mo.” Roque offered, still looking far too fucking pleased with himself for her tastes. “We’re not gonna start until Clay wakes up.” He flashed her one of his blinding smiles and she felt a rush of hate so intense that she was shocked he couldn’t feel it. “Don’t want him to miss the fun, do we?” 

“Fuck you.” She spit out, glaring at a man she once would have sworn would die for her. Or Clay. Or the others. 

He shook his head, his good mood clearly undeterred. “Nah, Mo, that’s for you and Clay.” He squatted down in front of her and looked up at her face. “I’m just going to fuck you up.” His fingers, again fingers she would have sworn would never take part in hurting her, moved her hair out of her face. “Pity, really. If you’d just stayed home, Mo, if you’d just let HIM go.” He shook his head again, “now you’ve FORCED my hand, Mo. YOU made this a necessity.”

“And Pooch?” She asked, glaring into his eyes. “Cougar?” She ground out, watching as he showed not a single sign of distaste for what Max planned for his former team. “Jensen?” Her voice broke, thinking of Jens, of him being brought down by a fellow Loser. 

“Collateral damage, Mo.” He stood up and pulled one of his obscenely large knives from its sleeve. “Clay’s getting what’s coming to him. He’s gonna watch me cut you up into tiny little pieces and he’ll BEG me to kill him. Not before he watches me kill Pooch, and Cougar, and Jensen. I want him to see what his bullshit leadership really led us to.” 

Morgan shook her head and stared at a man she never knew. “Hating him, killing him isn’t going to fix it, Roque.” She snorted. “But that’s not the point, is it?” She studied him as he pulled a table over from the corner. On it were more knives, and she fought the fear that bubbled up. “You don’t care that it won’t fix it. You just want to see him in pain. Not just physical, but actual trauma. You want to relish it.” A humorless laugh left her. “You’re as bad as the assholes we took out, once upon a time, aren’t you?” 

Silence met her, but she knew. They’d always had a viper in their nest, but no one had a clue. How had they not seen it?

Clay came to with a cramp in his neck and a metallic taste in his mouth. What the fuck? He tried to move and realized he was ziptied to a fucking metal chair. What the literal fuck? 

“Welcome home, honey.” Morgan’s voice greeted him and his eyes met hers. They were parallel to one another. Face to face, mirrors. “Sucks to be on the receiving end of a kidnapper’s roofie doesn’t it?” 

“Are you alright, Morgan?” He asked, giving her a full once over, taking in the nightshirt barely covering her hips and her bare feet. 

“Peachy.” She answered and his eyes met hers. She was trying to hide her fear, but he could read it loud and clear. “They’re just outside the room, but the celebration they have planned is going to be-”

“Piercing.” Roque’s voice offered as he walked up behind Clay’s chair. “Look who finally woke up.” He patted Clay’s shoulder in a horrible mimicry of comradery. “Glad you’re up, we can FINALLY get started.”

“Get started?” Clay was still staring at Morgan, and noticed her eyes lock on something just behind him. “You have a plan, Roque?” 

“He has a plan AND a financier.” Max. Yay, the gang’s all here, Morgan thought. “Roque and I realized we have a common goal, Clay.” He came into the light and walked until he was behind Morgan’s chair. Clay’s eyes glared up at him, biting back every word he wanted to throw at him. “And now, because YOU dared to fuck up and then DARED to come after me, he gets to be the artist he is on a new canvas.” Max’s gloved hand touched Morgan’s neck, brushing her hair out of the way and Clay jerked against his ties. “I can’t wait to see what he makes of her.”

The first cuts were shallow. Roque clearly wanted to play with Clay, and with that goal in mind, he was going to go the distance with Morgan’s torture. The first came on her wrist, above the ziptie, allowing her blood to bead up, but not drip heavily. Another on the tiny bit of chest that was uncovered by her nightshirt, more beading, more stinging burn. 

“Damn, Roque, are you trying to go tantric sex with this torture session? I have to tell you, I’m more of a hard, fast quickie kind of girl.” Morgan offered, hoping to break his stride and force him to do something or at least hoping that Jensen would track his or Clay’s cell phone and find them. 

He only smiled and dug the point of the slender knife he chose for the ‘first round’ into the top of her knee. “Where’s the fun if you pass out from blood loss, Mo?” She stared into his eyes as the tip went deeper, not blinking or wincing no matter how much pain he was inflicting. “Besides you haven’t really made a noise I’m looking forward to hearing.” 

“What noise is that, Ro?” She asked, holding back a sigh of relief when he pulled the knife from her flesh and stood up to go to the table holding his other blades. “If you’re waiting to hear me scream your name, I have to say, that’s gonna be a long fucking wait.” She could feel the blood dripping down her leg from the newest wound. 

“It doesn’t have to be my name, Mo.” He turned back, holding a serrated blade that was as thin as the first, but this one had teeth that screamed ‘suffering’. 

Clay watched for what felt like hours, and it could have been, as Roque used his knives to cut into the flesh of the woman he loved. And he watched as she refused to scream. Refused to beg or plead or even acknowledge that Roque was doing anything more annoying than forcing his presence on her. He could see the sweat sliding on her skin, more of which he could see because her nightgown was slowly being cut away so his former second could have more ‘canvas’ for his ‘art’. He could see the pain flare up in her eyes as Roque chose another implement of torture to hack into her skin, but aside from a few smart ass quips, she didn’t grant him or Max what they wanted most. 

He took her lead and didn’t speak. Not when taunted. Not when Roque called his attention to another area he’d bared, making obscene jokes about how unattractive her corpse would be when he was finished. He watched as Morgan swallowed against a scream as the biggest knife so far slid across her stomach, causing far more blood to come out, but still not enough to let her have the reprieve of unconsciousness. 

“I’m not hearing screaming, Roque.” Max grumbled from his comfortable seat nearby. “I’m not hearing begging, or pleading.” 

“We’re just getting started,” Roque promised and Morgan felt a rush of fear overtake the burning pain of her bleeding stomach. Shit. 

“Promises promises,” she taunted, truly hoping that some kind of fucking rescue was coming, because she wasn’t sure how much resistance to screaming she had left. “It’s almost like your heart isn’t in it, Ro.” 

A predatory smile and a flash of his knife accompanied his next promise. “My heart isn’t what needs to be in it.” 

Morgan was still conscious. Not that she wanted to be. But damn it, her body refused to go down. She could hear her own blood dripping around her chair and she tried, with what little mental energy she had left to contemplate how much she’d lost versus how much she had left before she’d go under for good. Unfathomable. 

“She still isn’t making a noise,” Max whined. “What the fuck, Roque?” 

“Is that what gets you off, Max?” She asked, voice hoarse from thirst and holding her tongue. “Women screaming in pain?” She shook her head and felt more blood fling from the ends of her hair. “That’s freaky, and you called me slutty.” 

She felt a hand twist into her blood and sweat damp hair and a tug forced her neck back. “What gets me off, right now, Morgan Dean is you screaming and begging to die. So get on with it, bitch.” He threw her head forward with a snap and she felt certain that she’d need a chiropractor after this shit. Because even with the chips being all the way down, she was firmly planning on surviving. Her and Clay would walk out of this fucking room, stomping over Roque AND Max’s fucking corpses and holding hands into the sunshine. She guaranteed it.

“You’re both fucking ridiculous.” Clay offered from his seat. Her eyes met his and she knew he was giving her a breather. “Two fucking men, one of which is trained to kill people, and it took ziptying us to fucking chairs for you to get this far. What’s wrong, Roque, scared that Mo would have kicked your ass like she did in PT?” 

Roque turned to face his former commander, the urge to thrust his knife deep into his chest clear as a bell on his face. “She only got me down because I ALLOWED it.” He growled. And Clay laughed. 

“Sure,” he shook his head and smiled. “Keep telling yourself that. I was there, remember? She knocked you full on your fucking ass, then had the class to help you to your fucking feet. She should have left you there. We all should have.” 

“This is on YOU, Clay.” Roque gestured around the room with the knife, Morgan’s blood flinging from it. “All of this. Her death? That’s on YOU. The others? YOU.”

“Me?” Clay glared up at Roque. “It’s on ME?” He shot a look at where Morgan guessed Max had retreated to. “Do you forget who started this fucking mess, Roque? Did you forget that HE fucking killed children?” He nodded toward Max. “HE’S why this shit is happening. Not me. Him and now YOU.” He spat out the word. “YOU chose to turn your back on US. You’re choosing to torture Morgan. She wasn’t even fucking there, Roque.”

“You’re right, she wasn’t.” Roque said, glancing over at Morgan’s sweaty and blood coated body. “And whose fault was THAT?” 

“Mine.” Morgan’s voice offered, barely a whisper. “My fault. I’m the one who packed up my toys and went home, Roque. Me.” 

She could feel all eyes on her, but she didn’t care. “Morgan,” it was Clay and he sounded pained. Funny, since no one had laid a hand on him, yet. “Honey, don’t.”

She smiled. “Don’t what, Clay?” Lifting her head and staring into Roque’s eyes she kept going. “Admit that you were a person down because I couldn’t handle my feelings for you?” Her eyes held her former teammate’s hostage as she kept talking. “Admit that I loved you from the first night we spent together? Admit that I would have died for you, and now I just might?” She gave a quiet laugh. “It’s funny, isn’t it? We finally figured this shit between us out and this traitor is going to cut it short.” She shook her head. “Come on, Roque, I have a few inches of skin left and you don’t seem tired. Didn’t you have a goal when we started?”

Before Roque could step forward, Morgan heard a weird metallic noise. One that she couldn’t place, until she realized Clay was breaking the cheap as fuck metal chair, something he must have been working on during her torture. He had to stop when he’d directed their attention to him to give her a break, but once she’d reclaimed it, he’d done it.

He was free, and he was PISSED. Roque heard the same noise, but he’d been taunted into moving toward Morgan and so his back was to Clay as his former commander came loose. Max was shocked silent and then, as Clay’s fist connected with Roque’s temple, so was he. 

Stunned, but not out, Morgan watched from her confinement as Clay grappled with Roque, dodging the blade, and landing blow after blow on his former second in command. He wasn’t going for elegant fighting, or a quick take down, no he wanted to make him PAY for the pain he had inflicted on Morgan. As he punched Roque’s face over and over, breaking his nose with a satisfying crunch, feeling teeth get loosened, he almost missed Max trying to dart past the pair of them. Almost.

One hand reached out and grabbed the source of all their fucking problems by an ankle and jerked. Down he went in his linen suit with a happy thud. Roque wasn’t moving, so Clay moved over Max’s prone, face down form and with a quick flick of his hand smacked his forehead into the hard floor with a satisfying crack. He was out.

“Great job, Clay,” Morgan’s voice, fading fast from blood loss and pain came to him. “Could you fucking untie me now?” 

He untied her, then he found more zip ties and tied Roque and Max to her chair and another uncomfortable one he found in a corner. She was resting in the more cushioned one that Max had sat in while he was being entertained by her torture. 

“Make sure you check their-” she offered, but he cut her off when she noticed he was already patting both of the assholes down. “Good.” She was tired, and fighting the pull of sleep. She knew she’d lost a lot of blood, they both had slipped in it when he got her free from the chair and that held her back from giving in. 

“I have his cell.” Whose? She nearly asked, but talking took more energy than she had. “Let me call the team.”

She listened, using Clay’s voice as her anchor to wakefulness, as he told them where they were and what they’d find when they got to them. 

“Hey,” he was standing in front of her, then he was kneeling before her. “Morgan, honey, are you still with me?” 

“Always.” She offered, before the darkness came again.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescued AGAIN. Hospital AGAIN. Bad news AGAIN.

Clay hadn’t left the room where they’d been kept. Morgan was unconscious in the more comfortable seat, and he was leaning against the legs of it, watching his two hostages and waiting for the rest of the team to show up. She was breathing. Her heartbeat was surprisingly strong. This made turning is back to her easier. 

He heard Roque moaning as the text came from Jensen that they were clearing the subdivision. Standing up, he walked over to the bound traitor and shot a quick glance at Max, still out, before returning his attention to the man moaning. 

“Damn, Roque, looks like you bit off more than you can chew.” He muttered. Sucking in a dramatic breath he chuckled. “Actually, I think I knocked some of your fucking teeth out, so maybe chewing is out for you entirely.” 

“Fuck you, Clay.” Roque mumbled. 

“Sorry, I didn’t really hear you.” Clay, gripped the back of his neck and yanked it back so Roque was forced to squint up at him. “Did you say ‘fuck you, Clay’?” A groan was his answer. “Trust me, Roque, fucking you isn’t on the list of torture you can expect.” 

Morgan woke up in her very own hospital and groaned. Fuck. A nurse, she squinted at the young man and tried to search for his name, finally landing on it. “Nurse Thatcher, great to see you again.” He chuckled and checked her vitals. “Before you ask, my name is Dr. Morgan Dean. The day is who the fuck knows, because I’ve been tortured, clearly. The president is still an asshole I didn’t vote for. And I swear to God, I will fucking DIE by self inflicted something before another idiot takes me hostage.”

A deep chuckle from the corner told her she had an audience. “That’s my girl.” Clay said, coming into view. “This time wasn’t nearly as bad as last time, Morgan.” She glared at him, but was happy to see that she could SEE this time. 

“You’re doing really well, Dr. Dean.” Nurse Thatcher offered, smiling down at her. “The doctor will be in shortly.” 

“Thanks.” Morgan offered with as much grace as she could. “Am I going to have to demand you sit and NOT hover again, Clay?” He chuckled again, a more free sound than she’d heard in a long time, and took the chair next to her bed. “I really hate waking up in these beds.”

“As much as you hate waking up zip tied to uncomfortable chairs?” The voice was Jensen’s and Morgan realized that Clay wasn’t her only visitor. Jensen, Pooch, and Cougar all came into view. 

“Neither is something I want to experience again.” She agreed. “How bad is the damage this time?” She wanted to know, but she was scared. They’d promised to make her hideous, was she?

No one said a word, and Morgan felt the anxiety inside her grow to a fever pitch. Why? She didn’t know. She had plenty of scars, but NOT on her face. And she couldn’t really remember where Roque cut her, not all of the places. 

“Guys?” Her voice was a croak. Tears were burning her eyes. “Please tell me.”

“Honey, Morgan, calm down.” It was Clay, and his hand took hers. “It’s not that bad. Honestly.” 

“We’re just pissed that he marked you at all, Mo.” Pooch said, teeth clenched. “That he fucking touched you with any fucking weapon was one too many.”

“So it isn’t bad?” Silence again. “You do know that when the four of you go completely fucking quiet it’s scarier than when Jensen tried to juggle Roque’s knives that one time, right?”

“Joking.” Jensen shook his head, and Morgan could feel the anger rolling off of him. “Not now, Mo. Please?” 

“Morgan,” Clay again, and her eyes found his. “The thing is, we didn’t know where all he-” He stopped and drew a breath. “I don’t know how you held back on screaming, Morgan, because the surgeon-” Wait, another surgery? “She-” Another deep breath and Clay’s hand squeezed hers. “The cut on your abdomen, it was deeper than you let on. He hit a few areas, and the doctor was shocked that you came in here with a steady heartbeat. You keep beating the odds, sweetheart.” 

“What does that mean, Clay?” She asked, but they were interrupted by the doctor. And looking up at her colleague she knew that whatever news was coming, it wasn’t good. Not even a little bit.

The doctor delivered the news better than Morgan thought she would have been able to. After all, how easy is it to tell a woman that her body had been through so much trauma through three consecutive kidnappings (even if Aisha’s mostly didn’t count) that she wouldn’t be able to bear children? That the surgeon after the first torture session, thank you Wade, had missed something important? That it was almost lucky that Roque had decided to cut through muscle and tendons, forcing them to do full body scans, which caught it? 

Morgan didn’t know if she’d have been able to do it, but her doctor did. She assured Morgan that aside from not being able to become a mother in the from scratch method, she would make a full recovery. Shell shocked, Morgan nodded through the rest of her examination, not even noticing her checking the multitude of bandages or making the easy mummy joke. She was trying to wrap her head around it. 

The truth was, Morgan never even considered motherhood. She was a soldier. A medic. A surgeon. A doctor. But a mother? It hadn’t even crossed her mind. Now that she knew she couldn’t though, all she could do was think about it. She and Clay had JUST come to terms with them, so they hadn’t had a chance to discuss what came next. Would he want kids? Look at how destroyed him and the team were after what happened in Bolivia. He was actually good with kids, she knew that. If possible he was more charming with kids than with women. 

“Morgan, sweetheart?” She looked up and saw him studying her with concern. “You know this doesn’t matter, right?” He had retaken her hand, linking his fingers through hers. “I want you, Morgan Dean. The rest we’ll figure out.” 

“Distract me.” She whispered, and he looked at her in confusion. “Take my mind off of it, tell me something that will divert me.” 

Clay’s smile came easily then. “How about this- We’ve been cleared.” Morgan’s eyebrows raised in shock. “Capturing Max, and Roque, handing them over to OUR government cleared our names.” 

“Have you been reinstated?” She asked, happy that he found the ONE thing that could completely take over her mind. “The others?”

He nodded. “We’re back, sweetheart.” She let out a long relieved sigh. “Of course, I’m going to be far more selective in our missions from here on out.”

“Of course.” She smiled, and realized they were alone. “Where did-”

“None of them wanted to be here when you heard, Morgan.” She nodded, and her uncertainty rushed back. “You know what this means, right?” 

Looking up, Morgan was confused. “What?”

“You get to play seek and find Aisha.” Which made Dr. Morgan Dean laugh hard enough to remind herself of the deep cut on her abdomen, but didn’t force her pain to the forefront, since she was far more interested in making plans for finding Aisha and making her wish she’d never taken her hostage.


	18. EPILOGUE~~~~  FINAL CHAPTER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue. The final chapter, tying up loose ends. Sort of.

Morgan sat next to Clay in the sunlight surrounded by screaming parents at a soccer game and she felt like they were in the Twilight Zone. How else would you explain four formerly dead soldiers, one fully recovered surgeon, and a few months old baby sitting in the broad light of day cheering on elementary school aged girl’s soccer? 

She shook her head as she bounced Pooch and Jolene’s son on her lap, squinting against the sun as she tried to figure out why Jensen was so pissed off. Did the ref make a bad call? How the fuck would she know, she didn’t follow soccer. 

She was keeping the baby occupied between giving Clay shit for wearing his suit to a damn park in the middle of summer when she realized that Jensen was rushing the field. Fuck. Pooch, Cougar, and Clay all rushed forward as she and Jolene sat with Jensen’s sister shaking their heads.

Morgan realized it was chaos, but it was HER chaos. And she would kill to make sure nothing ever came between them again. In fact she already had. 

Hunting down Aisha was surprisingly simple with Jensen’s help. Taking her down was an act of kindness, she told the other woman. Now that Max was in custody, heading ever closer to his own day with his maker, Aisha had no purpose. It was time to ‘pay the piper’ as the saying went. And just like the lyric from “The Night That the Lights Went Out In Georgia” said, “that’s one body that’ll never be found.” 

She watched what had been a soccer match and muttered a curse. Handing the baby to Jolene after kissing his soft, sweet smelling forehead, she rushed the field to pull the four men in her life away from what was slowly becoming a full blown brawl. They just came back from the dead, couldn’t have them arrested already. 

Her engagement ring flashing in the sunlight, she rushed forward and grabbed Clay’s arm, seeing him recognize her touch immediately make her heart beat faster, but she could see that they had their hands full. Jensen had gone full on Tiger Dad with the ref, and Pooch had already taken an elbow to the temple. Shit. Together, they waded back in and started to calm the group down. From here on out, they were a force to be reckoned with, and God help anyone who tried to come between them.


End file.
